JOE’S LUCK
                                OR
                         ALWAYS WIDE AWAKE


                                BY

                        HORATIO ALGER, JR.


                             AUTHOR OF

        “TONY THE TRAMP,” “SLOW AND SURE,” “THE CASH BOY,”
          “MAKING HIS WAY,” “JACK’S WARD,” “DO AND DARE,”
             “FACING THE WORLD,” “STRONG AND STEADY,”
                    “STRIVE AND SUCCEED,” ETC.




                             NEW YORK
                     THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY
                               1913




JOE’S LUCK




CHAPTER I

INTRODUCES JOE


“Come here, you Joe, and be quick about it!”

The boy addressed, a stout boy of fifteen, with an honest,
sun-browned face, looked calmly at the speaker.

“What’s wanted?” he asked.

“Brush me off, and don’t be all day about it!” said Oscar Norton
impatiently.

Joe’s blue eyes flashed indignantly at the tone of the other.

“You can brush yourself off,” he answered independently.

“What do you mean by your impudence?” demanded Oscar angrily. “Have
you turned lazy all at once?”

“No,” said Joe firmly, “but I don’t choose to be ordered round by
you.”

“What’s up, I wonder? Ain’t you our servant?”

“I am not your servant, though your father is my employer.”

“Then you are bound to obey me--his son.”

“I don’t see it.”

“Then you’d better, if you know what’s best for yourself. Are you
going to brush me off?”

“No.”

“Look out! I can get my father to turn you off.”

“You may try if you want to.”

Oscar, much incensed, went to his father to report Joe’s
insubordination. While he is absent, a few words of explanation
will enlighten the reader as to Joe’s history and present position.

Joe Mason was alone in the world. A year previous he had lost his
father, his only remaining parent, and when the father’s affairs
were settled and funeral expenses paid there was found to be just
five dollars left, which was expended for clothing for Joe.

In this emergency Major Norton, a farmer and capitalist, offered to
provide Joe with board and clothes and three months’ schooling in
the year in return for his services. As nothing else offered, Joe
accepted, but would not bind himself for any length of time. He was
free to go whenever he pleased.

Now there were two disagreeable things in Joe’s new place. The
first was the parsimony of Major Norton, who was noted for his
stingy disposition, and the second was the overbearing manners of
Oscar, who lost no opportunity to humiliate Joe and tyrannize over
him so far as Joe’s independent spirit would allow. It happened,
therefore, that Joe was compelled to work hard, while the promised
clothing was of the cheapest and shabbiest description. He was
compelled to go to school in patched shoes and a ragged suit, which
hurt his pride as he compared himself with Oscar, who was carefully
and even handsomely dressed. Parsimonious as his father was, he was
anxious that his only boy should appear to advantage.

On the very day on which our story begins Oscar had insulted Joe in
a way which excited our hero’s bitter indignation.

This is the way it happened:

Joe, who was a general favorite on account of his good looks and
gentlemanly manners, and in spite of his shabby attire, was walking
home with Annie Raymond, the daughter of the village physician,
when Oscar came up.

He was himself secretly an admirer of the young lady, but had never
received the least encouragement from her. It made him angry to see
his father’s drudge walking on equal terms with his own favorite,
and his coarse nature prompted him to insult his enemy.

“Miss Raymond,” he said, lifting his hat mockingly, “I congratulate
you on the beau you have picked up.”

Annie Raymond fully appreciated his meanness, and answered calmly:

“I accept your congratulations, Mr. Norton.”

This answer made Oscar angry and led him to go further than he
otherwise would.

“You must be hard up for an escort, when you accept such a
ragamuffin as Joe Mason.”

Joe flushed with anger.

“Oscar Norton, do you mean to insult Miss Raymond or me,” he
demanded.

“So you are on your high horse!” said Oscar sneeringly.

“Will you answer my question?”

“Yes, I will. I certainly don’t mean to insult Miss Raymond, but I
wonder at her taste in choosing my father’s hired boy to walk with.”

“I am not responsible to you for my choice, Oscar Norton,” said
Annie Raymond, with dignity. “If my escort is poorly dressed, it is
not his fault, nor do I think the less of him for it.”

“If your father would dress me better, I should be very glad of
it,” said Joe. “If I am a ragamuffin, it is his fault.”

“I’ll report that to him,” said Oscar maliciously.

“I wish you would. It would save me the trouble of asking him for
better clothes.”

“Suppose we go on,” said Annie Raymond.

“Certainly,” said Joe politely.

And they walked on, leaving Oscar discomfited and mortified.

“What a fool Annie Raymond makes of herself” he muttered. “I should
think she’d be ashamed to go round with Joe Mason.”

Oscar would have liked to despise Annie Raymond, but it was out
of his power. She was undoubtedly the belle of the school, and he
would have been proud to receive as much notice from her as she
freely accorded to Joe. But the young lady had a mind and a will of
her own, and she had seen too much to dislike in Oscar to regard
him with favor, even if he were the son of a rich man, while she
had the good sense and discrimination to see that Joe, despite his
ragged garb, possessed sterling good qualities.

When Oscar got home he sought his father.

“Father,” said he, “I heard Joe complaining to Annie Raymond that
you didn’t dress him decently.”

Major Norton looked annoyed.

“What does the boy mean?” he said. “What does he expect?”

“He should be dressed as well as I am,” said Oscar maliciously.

“Quite out of the question,” said the major hastily. “Your clothes
cost a mint of money.”

“Of course, you want me to look well, father. I am your son, and he
is only your hired boy.”

“I don’t want folks to talk,” said the major, who was sensitive to
public opinion. “Don’t you think his clothes are good enough?”

“Of course they are; but I’ll tell you what, father,” said Oscar,
with a sudden idea, “you know that suit of mine that I got stained
with acid?”

“Yes, Oscar,” said the major gravely. “I ought to remember it.
It cost me thirty-four dollars, and you spoiled it by your
carelessness.”

“Suppose you give that to Joe?” suggested Oscar.

“He’s a good deal larger than you. It wouldn’t fit him; and,
besides, it’s stained.”

“What right has a hired boy to object to a stain? No matter if it
is too small, he has no right to be particular.”

“You are right, Oscar,” said the major, who was glad to be saved
the expense of a new suit for Joe. Even he had been unpleasantly
conscious that Joe’s appearance had become discreditable to him.
“You may bring it down, Oscar,” he said.

“I dare say Joe won’t like the idea of wearing it, but a boy in his
position has no right to be proud.”

“Of course not,” returned the major, his ruling passion gratified
by the prospect of saving the price of a suit. “When Joseph comes
home--at any rate, after he is through with his chores--you may
tell him to come in to me.”

“All right, sir.”

Before Oscar remembered this message, the scene narrated at the
commencement of the chapter occurred. On his way to complain to his
father, he recollected the message, and, retracing his steps, said
to Joe:

“My father wants to see you right off.”

This was a summons which Joe felt it his duty to obey. He
accordingly bent his steps to the room where Major Norton usually
sat.




CHAPTER II

THE STAINED SUIT


“Oscar tells me that you wish to see me, sir,” said Joe, as he
entered the presence of his pompous employer.

Major Norton wheeled round in his armchair and looked at Joe over
his spectacles. He looked at Joe’s clothes, too, and it did strike
him forcibly that they were very shabby. However, there was Oscar’s
stained suit; which was entirely whole and of excellent cloth. As
to the stains, what right had a boy like Joe to be particular?

“Ahem!” said the major, clearing his throat. “Oscar tells me that
you are not satisfied with the clothes I have I given you.”

“He has told you the truth, Major Norton,” replied Joe bluntly.
“If you will look for yourself, I think you will see why I am
dissatisfied.”

“Joseph,” said the major, in a tone of disapproval, “you are too
free spoken. I understand you have been complaining to Doctor
Raymond’s daughter of the way I dress you.”

“Did Oscar tell you the way that happened?” inquired Joe.

“I apprehend he did not.”

“When I was walking home with Miss Annie Raymond, Oscar came up and
insulted me, calling me a ragamuffin. I told him that, if I was a
ragamuffin, it was not my fault.”

Major Norton looked disturbed.

“Oscar was inconsiderate,” he said. “It seems to me that your
clothes are suitable to your station in life. It is not well for a
boy in your circumstances to be ‘clothed in purple and fine linen,’
as the Scriptures express it. However, perhaps it is time for you
to have another suit.”

Joe listened in astonishment. Was it possible that Major Norton
was going to open his heart and give him what he had long secretly
desired?

Our hero’s delusion was soon dissipated.

Major Norton rose from his seat, and took from a chair near-by a
stained suit, which had not yet attracted Joe’s attention.

“Here is a suit of Oscar’s,” he said, “which is quite whole and
almost new. Oscar only wore it a month. It cost me thirty-four
dollars!” said the major impressively.

He held it up, and Joe recognized it at once.

“Isn’t it the suit Oscar got stained?” he asked abruptly.

“Ahem! Yes; it is a little stained, but that doesn’t injure the
texture of the cloth.”

As he held it up the entire suit seemed to have been sprinkled with
acid, which had changed the color in large, patches in different
parts. The wearer would be pretty sure to excite an unpleasant
degree of attention.

Joe did not appear to be overwhelmed with the magnificence of the
gift.

“If it is so good, why don’t Oscar wear it?” he asked.

Major Norton regarded Joe with displeasure.

“It cannot matter to you how Oscar chooses to dress,” he said. “I
apprehend that you and he are not on a level.”

“He is your son, and I am your hired boy,” said Joe. “I admit that.
But I don’t see how you can ask me to wear a suit like that.”

“I apprehend that you are unsuitably proud, Joseph.”

“I hope not, sir; but I don’t want to attract everybody’s notice
as I walk the streets. If I had stained the suit myself, I should
have felt bound to wear it, but it was Oscar’s carelessness that
destroyed its appearance, and I don’t think I ought to suffer for
that. Besides, it is much too small for me. Let me show you.”

Joe pulled off his coat and put on the stained one. The sleeves
were from two to three inches too short, and it was so far from
meeting in front, on account of his being much broader than Oscar,
that his shoulders seemed drawn back to meet each other behind.

“It doesn’t exactly fit,” said the major; “but it can be let out
easily. I will send it to Miss Pearce--the village tailoress--to
fix it over for you.”

“Thank you, Major Norton,” said Joe, in a decided tone, “but I hope
you won’t go to that expense, for I shall not be willing to wear it
under any circumstances.”

“I cannot believe my ears,” said Major Norton, with dignified
displeasure. “How old are you, Joseph?”

“Fifteen, sir.”

“It is not fitting that you, a boy of fifteen, should dictate to
your employer.”

“I don’t wish to, Major Norton, but I am not willing to wear that
suit.”

“You are too proud. Your pride needs taking down.”

“Major Norton,” said Joe firmly, “I should like to tell you how I
feel. You are my employer, and I am your hired boy. I try to do my
duty by you.”

“You are a good boy to work, Joseph. I don’t complain of that.”

“You agreed to give me board and clothing for my services.”

“So I have.”

“Yes, sir; but you have dressed me in such a way that I attract
attention in the street for my shabbiness. I don’t think I am very
proud, but I have been mortified! more than once when I saw people
looking at my patched clothes and shoes out at the toes. I think if
I work faithfully I ought to be dressed decently.”

“Joseph,” said Major Norton uneasily, “you look at the thing too
one-sided. You don’t expect me to dress you like Oscar?”

“No, sir; I don’t. If you would spend half as much for my clothes
as you do for Oscar’s I would be contented.”

“It seems to me you are very inconsistent. Here is a suit of
clothes that cost me thirty-four dollars, which I offer you, and
you decline.”

“You know why well enough, sir,” said Joe, “You did not tell me you
intended to dress me in Oscar’s castoff clothes, too small, and
stained at that. I would rather wear the patched suit I have on
till it drops to pieces than wear this suit.”

“You can go, Joseph,” said Major Norton, in a tone of annoyance. “I
did not expect to find you so unreasonable. If you do not choose to
take what I offer you, you will have to go without.”

“Very well, sir.”

Joe left the room, his face flushed and his heart full of
indignation at the slight which had been attempted on him.

“It is Oscar’s doings, I have no doubt,” he said to himself. “It is
like his meanness. He meant to mortify me.”

If there had been any doubt in Joe’s mind, it would soon have been
cleared up. Oscar had been lying in wait for his appearance, and
managed to meet him as he went out into the yard.

“Where are your new clothes?” he asked mockingly.

“I have none,” answered Joe.

“Didn’t my father give you a suit of mine?”

“He offered me the suit which you stained so badly with acid.”

“Well, it’s pretty good,” said Oscar patronizingly. “I only wore it
about a month.”

“Why don’t you wear it longer?”

“Because it isn’t fit for me to wear,” returned Oscar.

“Nor for me,” said Joe.

“You don’t mean to say you’ve declined?” exclaimed Oscar, in
surprise.

“That is exactly what I have done.”

“Why?”

“You ought to know why.”

“It is better than the one you have on.”

“It is too small for me. Besides, it would attract general
attention.”

“Seems to me somebody is getting proud,” sneered Oscar. “Perhaps
you think Annie Raymond wouldn’t walk with you in that suit?”

“I think it would make no difference to her,” said Joe. “She was
willing to walk with me in this ragged suit.”

“I don’t admire her taste.”

“She didn’t walk with my clothes; she walked with me.”

“A hired boy!”

“Yes, I am a hired boy; but I don’t get very good pay.”

“You feel above your business, that’s what’s the matter with you.”

“I hope some time to get higher than my business,” said Joe. “I
mean to rise in the world, if I can.”

Oscar shrugged his shoulders.

“Perhaps you would like to be a wealthy merchant, or a member of
Congress,” he said.

“I certainly should.”

Oscar burst into a sneering laugh, and left Joe alone.

Joe’s work was done, and, being left free to do as he liked, he
strolled over to the village store.




CHAPTER III

THE RETURNED CALIFORNIAN


The village store, in the evening, was a sort of village
club-house, where not only the loungers, but a better class, who
desired to pass the evening socially, were wont to congregate.
About the center of the open space was a large box-stove, which in
winter was kept full of wood, ofttimes getting red-hot, and around
this sat the villagers. Some on wooden chairs, some on a wooden
settee, with a broken back, which was ranged on one side.

Joe frequently came here in the evening to pass a social hour
and kill time. At the house of Major Norton he had no company.
Oscar felt above him, and did not deign to hold any intercourse
with his father’s drudge, while the housekeeper--Major Norton
being a widower--was busy about her own special work, and would
have wondered at Joe if he had sought her company. I make this
explanation because I do not wish it to be understood that Joe was
a common village lounger, or loafer.

When Joe entered the store he found the usual company present, but
with one addition.

This was Seth Larkin, who had just returned from California,
whither he had gone eighteen months before, and was, of course, an
object of great attention, and plied with numerous questions by his
old acquaintances in regard to the land of promise in the far West,
of which all had heard so much.

It was in the fall of the year 1851, and so in the early days of
California.

Seth was speaking as Joe entered.

“Is there gold in California?” repeated Seth, apparently in answer
to a question. “I should say there was. Why, it’s chock full of it.
People haven’t begun to find out the richness of the country. It’s
the place for a poor man to go if he wants to become rich. What’s
the prospects here? I ask any one of you. A man may go working and
plodding from one year’s end to another and not have ten dollars at
the end of it. There’s some here that know that I speak the truth.”

“How much better can a man do in California?” asked Daniel Tompkins.

“Well, Dan,” said Seth, “it depends on the kind of man he is. If
he’s a man like you, that spends his money for rum as fast as he
gets it, I should say it’s just as well to stay here. But if he’s
willing to work hard, and to put by half he makes, he’s sure to
do well, and he may get rich. Why, I knew a man that landed in
California the same day that I did, went up to the mines, struck a
vein, and--well, how much do you think that man is worth to-day?”

“A thousand dollars?” suggested Dan Tompkins.

“Why, I’m worth more than that myself, and I wasn’t lucky, and had
the rheumatism for four months. You’ll have to go higher.”

“Two thousand?” guessed Sam Stone.

“We don’t make much account of two thousand dollars in the mines,
Sam,” said Seth.

“It’s of some account here,” said Sam. “I’ve been workin’ ten
years, and I ain’t saved up a third of it.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Seth; “and it ain’t your fault, either.
Money’s scarce round here, and farmin’ don’t pay. You know what I
was workin’ at before I went out--in a shoe shop. I just about made
a poor livin’, and that was all. I didn’t have money enough to pay
my passage out, but I managed to borrow it. Well, it’s paid now,
and I’ve got something left.”

“You haven’t told us yet how much the man made that you was talkin’
about,” said Tom Sutter. “It couldn’t be five thousand dollars,
now, could it?”

“I should say it could,” said Seth.

“Was it any more?” inquired Dan Tompkins.

“Well, boys, I s’pose I may as well tell you, and you may b’lieve
it or not, just as you like. That man is worth twenty thousand
dollars to-day.”

There was a chorus of admiring ejaculations.

“Twenty thousand dollars! Did you ever hear the like?”

“Mind, boys, I don’t say it’s common to make so much money in so
short a time. There isn’t one in ten does it, but some make even
more. What I do say is, that a feller that’s industrious, and
willin’ to work, an’ rough it, and save what he makes, is sure to
do well, if he keeps well. That’s all a man has a right to expect,
or to hope for.”

“To be sure it is.”

“What made you come home, Seth, if you were gettin’ on so well?”
inquired one.

“That’s a fair question,” said Seth, “and I’m willin’ to answer
it. It was because of the rheumatics. I had ’em powerful bad at
the mines, and I’ve come home to kinder recuperate, if that’s the
right word. But I’m goin’ back ag’in, you may bet high on that. No
more work in the shoe shop for me at the old rates. I don’t mean
that I’d mind bein’ a manufacturer on a big scale. That’s a little
more stiddy and easy than bein’ at the mines, but that takes more
capital than I’ve got.”

“How much does it cost to go out there?” asked Dan Tompkins.

“More money than you can scare together, Dan. First-class, nigh on
to three hundred dollars, I believe.”

This statement rather dampened the ardor of more than one of the
listeners. Three hundred dollars, or even two, were beyond the
convenient reach of most of those present. They would have to
mortgage their places to get it.

“You can go second-class for a good deal less, and you can go round
the Horn pretty cheap,” continued Seth.

“How far away is Californy?” inquired Sam Stone.

“By way of the isthmus, it must be as much as six thousand miles,
and it’s twice as fur, I reckon, round the Horn. I don’t exactly
know the distance.”

“Then it’s farther away than Europe,” said Joe, who had been
listening with eager interest.

“Of course it is,” said Seth. “Why, that’s Joe Mason, isn’t it? How
you’ve grown since I saw you.”

“Do you think I have?” said Joe, pleased with the assurance.

“To be sure you have. Why, you’re a big boy of your age. How old
are you?”

“Fifteen---nearly sixteen.”

“That’s about what I thought. Where are you livin’ now, Joe?”

“I’m working for Major Norton.”

Seth burst into a laugh.

“I warrant you haven’t made your fortune yet, Joe,” he said.

“I haven’t made the first start yet toward it.”

“And you won’t while you work for the major. How much does he pay
you?”

“Board and clothes.”

“And them are the clothes?” said Seth, surveying Joe’s appearance
critically.

“Yes.”

“I guess the major’s tailor’s bill won’t ruin him, then. Are they
the best you’ve got?”

“No; I’ve got a better suit for Sunday.”

“Well, that’s something. You deserve to do better, Joe.”

“I wish I could,” said Joe wistfully. “Is there any chance for a
boy in California, Mr. Larkin?”

“Call me Seth. It’s what I’m used to. I don’t often use the handle
to my name. Well, there’s a chance for a boy, if he’s smart; but
he’s got to work.”

“I should be willing to do that.”

“Then, if you ever get the chance, it won’t do you any harm to try
your luck.”

“How much did you say it costs to get there?”

“Well, maybe you could get there for a hundred dollars, if you
wasn’t particular how you went.”

A hundred dollars! It might as well have been ten thousand, as far
as Joe was concerned. He received no money wages, nor was he likely
to as long as he remained in the major’s employ. There was a shoe
shop in the village, where money wages were paid, but there was no
vacancy; and, even if there were, Joe was quite unacquainted with
the business, and it would be a good while before he could do any
more than pay his expenses.

Joe sighed as he thought how far away was the prospect of his
being able to go to California. He could not help wishing that he
were the possessor of the magic carpet mentioned in the Arabian
tale, upon which the person seated had only to wish himself to be
transported anywhere, and he was carried there in the twinkling of
an eye.

Joe walked home slowly, dreaming of the gold-fields on the other
side of the continent, and wishing he were there.




CHAPTER IV

JOE’S LEGACY


The next day was Saturday. There was no school, but this did not
lighten Joe’s labors, as he was kept at work on the farm all day.

He was in the barn when Deacon Goodwin, a neighbor, drove up.

Oscar was standing in front of the house, whittling out a cane from
a stick he had cut in the woods.

“Is Joe Mason at home?” the deacon inquired.

Oscar looked up in surprise. Why should the deacon want Joe Mason?

“I suppose he is,” drawled Oscar.

“Don’t you know?”

“Probably he is in the barn,” said Oscar indifferently.

“Will you call him? I want to see him on business.”

Oscar was still more surprised. He was curious about the business,
but his pride revolted at the idea of being sent to summon Joe.

“You’ll find him in the barn,” said he.

“I don’t want to leave my horse,” said the deacon. “I will take it
as a favor if you will call him.”

Oscar hesitated. Finally he decided to go and then return to hear
what business Joe and the deacon had together. He rather hoped that
Joe had been trespassing on the deacon’s grounds, and was to be
reprimanded.

He opened the barn door and called out:

“Deacon Goodwin wants you out at the gate.”

Joe was as much surprised as Oscar.

He followed Oscar to the front of the house and bade the deacon
good morning.

“Oscar tells me you want to see me,” he said.

“Yes, Joe. Do you remember your Aunt Susan?”

“My mother’s aunt?”

“Yes; she’s dead and buried.”

“She was pretty old,” said Joe.

“The old lady had a small pension,” continued the deacon, “that
just about kept her, but she managed to save a little out of it.
When the funeral expenses were paid it was found that there were
fifty-six dollars and seventy-five cents over.”

“What’s going to be done with it?” he inquired.

“She’s left it to you,” was the unexpected reply, “You was the
nearest relation she had, and it was her wish that whatever was
left should go to you.”

“I’m very much obliged to her. I didn’t expect anything. I had
almost forgotten I had a great-aunt.”

“The money has been sent to me, Joe,” continued the deacon. “I’m
ready to pay it over to you when you want it, but I hope you won’t
spend it foolish.”

“I don’t think I shall, Deacon Goodwin.”

“It wouldn’t take long to spend it, Joe,” said the deacon. “Do you
want me to keep it for you?”

“I don’t know,” said Joe; “I haven’t had time to think. I’ll come
round to-night and see you.”

“Very well, Joseph. G’lang, Dobbin!” and the deacon started his old
horse, who had completed his quarter century, along the road.

Oscar had listened, not without interest, to the conversation.
Though he was the son of a rich man, he had not at command so large
a sum as his father’s hired boy had fallen heir to. On the whole,
he respected Joe rather more than when he was altogether penniless.

“You’re in luck, Joe,” said he graciously.

“Yes,” said Joe. “It’s very unexpected.”

“You might buy yourself a new suit of clothes.”

“I don’t intend to do that.”

“Why not? You were wishing for one yesterday.”

“Because it is your father’s place to keep me in clothes. That’s
the bargain I made with him.”

“Perhaps you are right,” said Oscar.

“I’ll tell you what you can do,” he said, after a pause.

“What?”

“You might buy a boat.”

“I shouldn’t have any time to use it.”

“You might go out with it in the evening. I would look after it in
the daytime.”

No doubt this arrangement would be satisfactory to Oscar, who would
reap all the advantage, but Joe did not see it in a favorable light.

“I don’t think I should care to buy a boat,” he said.

“What do you say to buying a revolver?”

“I think it would be better to put it on interest.”

“You’d better get the good of it now. You might die and then what
use would the money be?”

On the way to the deacon’s Joe fell in with Seth Larkin.

“Well, my boy, where are you bound?” asked Seth.

“To collect my fortune,” said Joe.

Seth asked for an explanation and received it.

“I’m glad for you and I wish it were more.”

“So do I,” said Joe.

“What for? Anything particular?”

“Yes; if it was enough, I would go to California.”

“And you really want to go?”

“Yes. I suppose fifty dollars wouldn’t be enough?”

“No; it wouldn’t,” said Seth; “but I’ll tell you what you could do.”

“What?”

“Go to New York and keep yourself till you got a chance to work
your passage round the Horn.”

“So I might,” said Joe, brightening up.

“It wouldn’t be easy, but you wouldn’t mind that.”

“No; I wouldn’t mind that.”

“Well, if you decide to go, come round and see me to-morrow, and
I’ll give you the best advice I can.”

The deacon opposed Joe’s plan, but in vain. Our hero had made up
his mind. Finally the old man counted out the money and Joe put it
in an old wallet.

The next thing was to give Major Norton warning.

“Major Norton,” said Joe, “I should like to have you get another
boy in my place.”

“What, Joe?” exclaimed the major.

“I am going to leave town.”

“Where are you going?” asked his employer.

“First to New York and afterwards to California.”

“Well, I declare! Is it because you ain’t satisfied with your
clothes?”

“No, sir. I don’t see much prospect for me if I stay here and I
have heard a good deal about California.”

“But you haven’t got any money.”

“I have almost sixty dollars.”

“Oh, yes; Oscar told me. You’d better stay here.”

“No, sir; I have made up my mind.”

“You’ll come back in a month without a cent.”

“If I do, I’ll go to work again for you.”

Monday morning came. Clad in his Sunday suit of cheap and rough
cloth, Joe stood on the platform at the depot. The cars came up, he
jumped aboard, and his heart beat with exultation as he reflected
that he had taken the first step toward the Land of Gold.




CHAPTER V

AT THE COMMERCIAL HOTEL


Joe had never been in New York and when he arrived the bustle and
confusion at first bewildered him.

“Have a hack, young man?” inquired a jehu.

“What’ll you charge?”

“A dollar and a half, and half-a-dollar for your baggage.”

“This is all the baggage I have,” said Joe, indicating a bundle
tied in a red cotton handkerchief.

“Then, I’ll only charge a dollar and a half,” said the hackman.

“I’ll walk,” said Joe. “I can’t afford to pay a dollar and a half.”

“You can’t walk; it’s too far.”

“How far is it?”

“Ten miles, more or less,” answered the hackman.

“Then I shall save fifteen cents a mile,” said Joe, not much
alarmed, for he did not believe the statement.

“If you lose your way, don’t blame me.”

Joe made his way out of the crowd, and paused at the corner of the
next street for reflection. Finally he stopped at an apple and
peanut stand, and, as a matter of policy, purchased an apple.

“I am from the country,” he said, “and I want to find a cheap
hotel. Can you recommend one to me?”

“Yes,” said the peanut merchant. “I know of one where they charge a
dollar a day.”

“Is that cheap? What do they charge at the St. Nicholas?”

“Two dollars a day.”

“A day?” asked Joe, in amazement.

It must be remembered that this was over fifty years ago. Joe would
have greater cause to be startled at the prices now asked at our
fashionable hotels.

“Well, you can go to the cheap hotel.”

“Where is it?”

The requisite directions were given. It was the Commercial Hotel,
located in a down-town street.

The Commercial Hotel, now passed away, or doing business under a
changed name, was not a stylish inn.

It was rather dark and rather dingy, but Joe did not notice that
particularly. He had never seen a fine hotel, and this structure,
being four stories in height above the offices, seemed to him
rather imposing than otherwise.

He walked up to the desk, on which was spread out, wide open, the
hotel register. Rather a dissipated-looking clerk stood behind the
counter, picking his teeth.

“Good morning, sir,” said Joe politely. “What do you charge to stay
here?”

“A dollar a day,” answered the clerk.

“Can you give me a room?”

“I guess so, my son. Where is your trunk?”

“I haven’t got any.”

“Haven’t you got any baggage?”

“Here it is.”

The clerk looked rather superciliously at the small bundle.

“Then you’ll have to pay in advance.”

“All right,” said Joe. “I’ll pay a day in advance.”

A freckle-faced boy was summoned, provided with the key of No. 161,
and Joe was directed to follow him.

“Shall I take your bundle?” he asked.

“No, thank you. I can carry it myself.”

They went up-stairs, until Joe wondered when they were going to
stop. Finally the boy paused at the top floor, for the very good
reason that he could get no higher, and opened the door of 161.

“There you are,” said the boy. “Is there anything else you want?”

“No, thank you.”

“I’m sorry there ain’t a bureau to keep your clothes,” said the
freckle-faced boy, glancing at Joe’s small bundle with a smile.

“It is inconvenient,” answered Joe, taking the joke.

“You wouldn’t like some hot water for shaving, would you?” asked
the boy, with a grin.

“You can have some put on to heat and I’ll order it when my beard
is grown,” said Joe good-naturedly.

“All right. I’ll tell ’em to be sure and have it ready in two or
three years.”

“That will be soon enough. You’d better order some for yourself at
the same time.”

“Oh, I get in hot water every day.”

The freckle-faced boy disappeared, and Joe sat down on the bed, to
reflect a little on his position and plans.

So here he was in New York, and on the way to California, too--that
is, he hoped so. How much can happen in a little while. Three days
before he had not dreamed of any change in his position.

“I hope I shan’t have to go back again to Oakville. I won’t go
unless I am obliged to,” he determined.

He washed his hands and face, and went down-stairs. He found that
dinner was just ready. It was not a luxurious meal, but, compared
with the major’s rather frugal table, there was great variety and
luxury. Joe did justice to it.

“Folks live better in the city than they do in the country,” he
thought; “but, then, they have to pay for it. A dollar a day! Why,
that would make three hundred and sixty-five dollars a year!”

This to Joe seemed a very extravagant sum to spend on one person’s
board and lodging.

“Now,” thought Joe, after dinner was over, “the first thing for me
to find out is when the California steamer starts and what is the
lowest price I can go for.”

In the barroom Joe found a file of two of the New York daily
papers, and began to search for the advertisement of the California
steamers.

At last he found it.

The steamer was to start in three days. Apply for passage and any
information at the company’s offices.

“I’ll go right down there, and find out whether I’ve got money
enough to take me,” Joe decided.




CHAPTER VI

JOE BUYS A TICKET


The office of the steamer was on the wharf from which it was to
start. Already a considerable amount of freight was lying on the
wharf ready to be loaded. Joe made his way to the office.

“Well, boy, what’s your business?” inquired a stout man with a red
face, who seemed to be in charge.

“Is this the office of the California steamer, sir?”

“Yes.”

“What is the lowest price for passage?”

“A hundred dollars for the steerage.”

When Joe heard this his heart sank within him. It seemed to be the
death-blow to his hopes. He had but fifty dollars, or thereabouts,
and there was no chance whatever of getting the extra fifty.

“Couldn’t I pay you fifty dollars now and the rest as soon as I can
earn it in California?” he pleaded.

“We don’t do business in that way.”

“I’d be sure to pay it, sir, if I lived,” said Joe. “Perhaps you
think I am not honest.”

“I don’t know whether you are or not,” said the agent cavalierly.
“We never do business in that way.”

Joe left the office not a little disheartened.

“I wish it had been a hundred dollars Aunt Susan left me,” he said
to himself.

Joe’s spirits were elastic, however. He remembered that Seth had
never given him reason to suppose that the money he had would pay
his passage by steamer. He had mentioned working his passage in
a sailing-vessel round the Horn. Joe did not like that idea so
well, as the voyage would probably last four months, instead of
twenty-five days, and so delay his arrival.

The afternoon slipped away almost without Joe’s knowledge. He
walked about, here and there, gazing with curious eyes at the
streets, and warehouses, and passing vehicles, and thinking what
a lively place New York was, and how different life was in the
metropolis from what it had been to him in the quiet country town
which had hitherto been his home. Somehow it seemed to wake Joe up,
and excite his ambition, to give him a sense of power which he had
never felt before.

“If I could only get a foothold here,” thought Joe, “I should be
willing to work twice as hard as I did on the farm.”

This was what Joe thought. I don’t say that he was correct. There
are many country boys who make a mistake in coming to the city.
They forsake quiet, comfortable homes, where they have all they
need, to enter some city counting-room, or store, at starvation
wages, with, at best, a very remote prospect of advancement and
increased risk of falling a prey to temptation in some of the
many forms which it assumes in a populous town. A boy needs to be
strong, and self-reliant, and willing to work if he comes to the
city to compete for the prizes of life. As the story proceeds, we
shall learn whether Joe had these necessary qualifications.

When supper was over he went into the public room of the Commercial
Hotel, and took up a paper to read. There was a paragraph about
California, and some recent discoveries there, which he read with
avidity.

Though Joe was not aware of it, he was closely observed by a
dark-complexioned man, dressed in rather a flashy manner. When our
hero laid down the paper this man commenced a conversation.

“I take it you are a stranger in the city, my young friend?” he
observed, in an affable manner.

“Yes, sir,” answered Joe, rather glad to have some one to speak to.
“I only arrived this morning.”

“Indeed! May I ask from what part of the country you come?”

“From Oakville, New Jersey.”

“Indeed! I know the place. It is quite a charming town.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Joe. “It’s pretty quiet and
dull--nothing going on.”

“So you have come to the city to try your luck?”

“I want to go to California.”

“Oh, I see--to the gold-diggings.”

“Have you ever been there, sir?”

“No; but I have had many friends go there. When do you expect to
start?”

“Why, that is what puzzles me,” Joe replied frankly. “I may not be
able to go at all.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t got money enough to buy a ticket.”

“You have got some money, haven’t you?”

“Yes--I have fifty dollars; but I need that a hundred dollars is
the lowest price for a ticket.”

“Don’t be discouraged, my young friend,” said the stranger, in
the most friendly manner. “I am aware that the ordinary charge
for a steerage ticket is one hundred dollars, but exceptions are
sometimes made.”

“I don’t think they will make one in my case,” said Joe. “I told
the agent I would agree to pay the other, half as soon as I earned
it, but he said he didn’t do business in that way.”

“Of course. You are a stranger to him, don’t you see? That makes
all the difference in the world. Now, I happen to be personally
acquainted with him. I am sure he would do me a favor. Just give me
the fifty dollars, and I’ll warrant I’ll get the ticket for you.”

Joe was not wholly without caution, and the thought of parting with
his money to a stranger didn’t strike him favorably. Not that he
had any doubts as to his new friend’s integrity, but it didn’t seem
businesslike.

“Can’t I go with you to the office?” he suggested.

“I think I can succeed better in the negotiation if I am alone,”
said the stranger. “I’ll tell you what--you needn’t hand me the
money, provided you agree to take the ticket off my hands at fifty
dollars if I secure it.”

“Certainly I will, and be very thankful to you.”

“I always like to help young men along,” said the stranger
benevolently. “I’ll see about it to-morrow. Now, where can I meet
you?”

“In this room. How will that do?”

“Perfectly. I am sure I can get the ticket for you. Be sure to have
the money ready.”

“I’ll be sure,” said Joe cheerfully.

“And hark you, my young friend,” continued the stranger, “don’t say
a word to any one of what I am going to do for you, or I might have
other applications, which I should be obliged to refuse.”

“Very well, sir. I will remember.”

Punctually at four the next day the stranger entered the room,
where Joe was already awaiting him.

“Have you succeeded?” asked Joe eagerly.

The stranger nodded.

“Let us go up to your room and complete our business. For reasons
which I have already mentioned, I prefer that the transaction
should be secret.”

“All right, sir.”

Joe got his key, and led the way up-stairs.

“I had a little difficulty with the agent,” said the stranger; “but
finally he yielded, out of old friendship.” He produced a large
card, which read thus:

                   =CALIFORNIA STEAMSHIP COMPANY.
                            THE BEARER
                Is Entitled to One Steerage Passage
                               FROM
                     NEW YORK TO SAN FRANCISCO
                         STEAMER COLUMBUS.=

Below this was printed the name of the agent. Joe paid over the
money joyfully.

“I am very much obliged to you,” he said gratefully.

“Don’t mention it,” said the stranger, pocketing the fifty dollars.
“Good day! Sorry to leave you, but I am to meet a gentleman at
five.”

He went down-stairs, and left Joe alone.




CHAPTER VII

JOE GETS INTO TROUBLE


“How lucky I have been,” thought Joe, in the best of spirits.
“There wasn’t one chance in ten of my succeeding, and yet I have
succeeded. Everything has turned out right. If I hadn’t met this
man, I couldn’t have got a ticket at half price.”

Joe found that after paying his hotel expenses, he should have a
dollar left over. This would be rather a small sum to start with in
California, but Joe didn’t trouble himself much about that.

In the course of the day Joe found himself in the upper part of
the Bowery. It seemed to him a very lively street, and he was much
interested in looking in at the shop windows as he passed.

He was standing before a window, when a stone from some quarter
struck the pane and shivered it in pieces.

Joe was startled, and was gazing at the scene of havoc in
bewilderment, when a stout German, the proprietor, rushed out and
seized him by the collar.

“Aha! I have you, you young rascal!” he exclaimed furiously. “I’ll
make you pay for this!”

By this time Joe had recovered his senses.

“Let me alone!” he exclaimed.

“I let you know!” exclaimed the angry man. “You break my window!
You pay me five dollar pretty quick, or I send you to prison!”

“I didn’t break your window! It’s a lie!”

“You tell me I lie?” shouted the angry German. “First you break my
window, then you tell me I lie! You, one bad boy--you one loafer!”

“I don’t know who broke your window,” said Joe, “but I tell you I
didn’t. I was standing here, looking in, when, all at once, I heard
a crash.”

“You take me for one fool, perhaps,” said his captor, puffing with
excitement. “You want to get away, hey?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And get no money for my window?”

By this time a crowd had collected around the chief actors in this
scene. They were divided in opinion.

“Don’t he look wicked, the young scamp?” said a thin-visaged female
with a long neck.

“Yes,” said her companion. “He’s one of them street rowdies that go
around doin’ mischief. They come around and pull my bell, and run
away, the villians!”

“What’s the matter, my boy?” asked a tall man with sandy hair,
addressing himself to Joe in a friendly tone.

“This man says I broke his window.”

“How was it? Did you break it?”

“No, sir. I was standing looking in, when a stone came from
somewhere and broke it.”

“Look here, sir,” said the sandy-haired man, addressing himself
to the German, “what reason have you for charging this boy with
breaking your window?”

“He stood shoost in front of it,” said the German.

“If he had broken it, he would have run away. Didn’t that occur to
you?”

“Some one broke mine window,” said the German.

“Of course; but a boy who threw a stone must do so from a distance,
and he wouldn’t be likely to run up at once to the broken window.”

“Of course not. The man’s a fool!” were the uncomplimentary remarks
of the bystanders, who a minute before had looked upon Joe as
undoubtedly guilty.

“You’ve got no case at all,” said Joe’s advocate. “Let go the
boy’s collar, or I shall advise him to charge you with assault and
battery.”

“Maybe you one friend of his?” said the German.

“I never saw the boy before in my life,” said the other, “but I
don’t want him falsely accused.”

“Somebody must pay for my window.”

“That’s fair; but it must be the boy or man that broke it, not my
young friend here, who had no more to do with it than myself. I
sympathize with you, and wish you could catch the scamp that did
it.”

At that moment a policeman came up.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“My window was broke--dat’s what’s de matter.”

“Who broke it?” asked the policeman.

“I caught dat boy standing outside,” pointing to Joe.

“Aha, you young rascal! I’ve caught you, have I? I’ve had my eye on
you for weeks!”

And Joe, to his dismay, found himself collared anew.

“I’ve only been in the city two days,” said Joe.

“Take him to jail!” exclaimed the German.

And the policeman was about to march off poor Joe, when a voice of
authority stayed him.

“Officer, release that boy!” said the sandy-haired man sternly.

“I’ll take you along, too, if you interfere.”

“Release that boy!” repeated the other sternly; “and arrest the
German for assault and battery. I charge him with assaulting this
boy!”

“Who are you?” demanded the officer insolently.

“My name is ----, and I am one of the new police commissioners,”
said the sandy-haired man quietly.

Never was there a quicker change from insolence to fawning.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, sir,” said the officer, instantly releasing
Joe. “I didn’t know you.”

“Nor your duty, either, it appears,” said the commissioner sternly.
“Without one word of inquiry into the circumstances, you were about
to arrest this boy. A pretty minister of justice you are!”

“Shall I take this man along, sir?” asked the policeman, quite
subdued.

At this suggestion the bulky Teuton hurried into his shop,
trembling with alarm. With great difficulty he concealed himself
under the counter.

“You may let him go this time. He has some excuse for his conduct,
having suffered loss by the breaking of his window. As for you,
officer, unless you are more careful in future, you will not long
remain a member of the force.”

The crowd disappeared, only Joe and his advocate remaining behind.

“I am grateful to you, sir, for your kindness,” said Joe. “But for
you I should have been carried to the station-house.”

“It is fortunate I came along just as I did. Are you a stranger in
the city?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You must be careful not to run into danger. There are many perils
in the city for the inexperienced.”

“Thank you, sir. I shall remember your advice.”

The next day, about two hours before the time of sailing, Joe went
down to the wharf.

As he was going on board a man stopped him.

“Have you got a ticket?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” said Joe, “a steerage ticket. There it is.”

“Where did you get this?” asked the man.

Joe told him.

“How much did you pay for it?”

“Fifty dollars.”

“Then you have lost your money, for it is a bogus ticket. You can’t
travel on it.”

Joe stared at the other in blank dismay. The earth seemed to be
sinking under him. He realized that he had been outrageously
swindled, and that he was farther from going to California than
ever.




CHAPTER VIII

JOE’S LUCK CHANGES


The intelligence that his ticket was valueless came to Joe like
a thunderbolt from a clear sky. The minute before he was in high
spirits--his prospects seemed excellent and his path bright.

“What shall I do?” he ejaculated.

“I can’t tell you,” said the officer. “One thing is clear--you
can’t go to California on that ticket.”

Poor Joe! For the moment hope was dead within his breast. He had
but one dollar left and that was only half the amount necessary
to carry him back to the village where we found him at the
commencement of our story. Even if he were able to go back, he felt
he would be ashamed to report the loss of his money. The fact that
he had allowed himself to be swindled mortified him not a little.
He would never hear the last of it if he returned to Oakville.

“No; I wouldn’t go back if I could,” he decided.

“Wouldn’t I like to get hold of the man that sold me the ticket!”

He had hardly given mental expression to this wish when it was
gratified. The very man passed him and was about to cross the
gangplank into the steamer. Joe’s eyes flashed, and he sprang
forward and seized the man by the arm.

The swindler’s countenance changed when he recognized Joe, but he
quickly decided upon his course.

“What do you want, Johnny?” he asked composedly.

“What do I want? I want my fifty dollars back.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You sold me a bogus ticket for fifty dollars,” said Joe stoutly.
“Here it is. Take it back and give me my money.”

“The boy must be crazy,” said the swindler.

“Did you sell him that ticket?” inquired the officer.

“Never saw him before in my life.”

“Ain’t you mistaken, boy?” asked the officer.

“No, sir. This is the very man.”

“Have you any business here?” asked the officer.

“Yes,” said the man; “I’ve taken a steerage ticket to San
Francisco. Here it is.”

“All right. Go in.”

He tore himself from Joe’s grasp and went on board the steamer. Our
hero, provoked, was about to follow him, when the officer said:

“Stand back! You have no ticket.”

“That man bought his ticket with my money.”

“That is nothing to me,” said the officer. “It may be so, or you
may be mistaken.”

“I am not mistaken,” said Joe.

“You can report it to the police--that is, if you think you can
prove it. Now, stand back!”

Poor Joe! He had been worsted in the encounter with this
arch-swindler. He would sail for San Francisco on the Columbus.
Perhaps he would make his fortune there, while Joe, whom he had so
swindled, might, within three days, be reduced to beggary.

Joe felt that his confidence in human nature was badly shaken.
Injustice and fraud seemed to have the best of it in this world, so
far as his experience went, and it really seemed as if dishonesty
were the best policy. It is a hard awakening for a trusting boy,
when he first comes in contact with selfishness and corruption.

Joe fell back because he was obliged to. He looked around, hoping
that he might somewhere see a policeman, for he wanted to punish
the scoundrel to whom he owed his unhappiness and loss. But, as
frequently happens, when an officer is wanted none is to be seen.

Joe did not leave the wharf. Time was not of much value to him, and
he decided that he might as well remain and see the steamer start
on which he had fondly hoped to be a passenger.

Meanwhile, the preparations for departure went steadily forward.
Trunks arrived and were conveyed on board; passengers, accompanied
by their friends, came, and all was hurry and bustle.

Two young men, handsomely dressed and apparently possessed of
larger means than the great majority of the passengers, got out of
a hack and paused close to where Joe was standing.

“Dick,” said one, “I’m really sorry you are not going with me. I
shall feel awfully lonely without you.”

“I am very much disappointed, Charlie, but duty will keep me at
home. My father’s sudden, alarming sickness has broken up all my
plans.”

“Yes, Dick, of course you can’t go.”

“If my father should recover, in a few weeks, I will come out and
join you, Charlie.”

“I hope you may be able to, Dick. By the way, how about your
ticket?”

“I shall have to lose it, unless the company will give me another
in place of it.”

“They ought to do it.”

“Yes, but they are rather stiff about it. I would sell it for a
hundred dollars.”

Joe heard this and his heart beat high.

He pressed forward, and said eagerly:

“Will you sell it to me for that?”

The young man addressed as Dick looked, in surprise, at the poorly
dressed boy who had addressed him.

“Do you want to go to California?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” said Joe. “I am very anxious to go.”

“Do I understand you to offer a hundred dollars for my ticket?”

“Yes, sir; but I can’t pay you now.”

“When do you expect to be able to pay me, then?”

“Not till I’ve earned the money in California.”

“Have you thought before of going?”

“Yes, sir. Until an hour ago I thought that it was all arranged
that I should go. I came down here and found that the ticket I had
bought was a bogus one, and that I had been swindled out of my
money.”

“That was a mean trick,” said Dick Scudder indignantly. “Do you
know the man that cheated you?”

“Yes; he is on board the steamer.”

“How much money have you got left?”

“A dollar.”

“Only a dollar? And you are not afraid to land in California with
this sum?”

“No, sir. I shall go to work at once.”

“Charlie,” said Dick, turning to his friend, “I will do as you say.
Are you willing to take this boy into your stateroom in my place?”

“Yes,” said Charles Folsom promptly. “He looks like a good boy. I
accept him as my roommate.”

“All right,” said the other. “My boy, what is your name?”

“Joe Mason.”

“Well, Joe, here is my ticket. If you are ever able to pay a
hundred dollars for this ticket, you may pay it to my friend,
Charles Folsom. Now, I advise you both to be getting aboard, as it
is nearly time for the steamer to sail. I won’t go on with you,
Charlie, as I must go back to my father’s bedside.”

“Good-by, sir. God bless you!” said Joe gratefully. “Good-by, Joe,
and good luck!”

As they went over the plank, the officer, recognizing Joe, said
roughly:

“Stand back, boy! Didn’t I tell you you couldn’t go aboard without
a ticket?”

“Here is my ticket,” said Joe.

“A first-class ticket!” exclaimed the officer, in amazement. “Where
did you get it?”

“I bought it,” answered Joe.

“I shall go to California, after all!” thought our hero exultingly.




CHAPTER IX

THE FIRST DAY ON BOARD


“We will look up our stateroom first, Joe,” said his new friend.
“It ought to be a good one.”

The stateroom proved to be No. 16, very well located and spacious
for a stateroom. But to Joe it seemed very small for two persons.
He was an inexperienced traveler and did not understand that life
on board ship is widely different from life on shore. His companion
had been to Europe and was used to steamer life.

“I think, Joe,” said he, “that I shall put you in the top berth.
The lower berth is considered more desirable, but I claim it on the
score of age and infirmity.”

“You don’t look very old, or infirm,” said Joe.

“I am twenty-three. And you?”

“Fifteen--nearly sixteen.”

“I have a stateroom trunk, which will just slip in under my berth.
Where is your luggage?”

Joe looked embarrassed.

“I don’t know but you will feel ashamed of me,” he said; “but the
only extra clothes I have are tied up in this handkerchief.”

Charles Folsom whistled.

“Well,” said he, “you are poorly provided. What have you got
inside?”

“A couple of shirts, three collars, two handkerchiefs, and a pair
of stockings.”

“And you are going a journey of thousands of miles! But never
mind,” he said kindly. “I am not much larger than you, and, if you
need it, I can lend you. Once in California, you will have less
trouble than if you were loaded down with clothes. I must get you
to tell me your story when there is time.”

They came on deck just in time to see the steamer swing out of the
dock.

There were some of the passengers with sober faces. They had
bidden farewell to friends and relatives whom they might not see
for years--perhaps never again. They were going to a new country,
where hardships undoubtedly awaited them, and where they must take
their chances of health and success. Some, too, feared seasickness,
a malady justly dreaded by all who have ever felt its prostrating
effects. But Joe only felt joyful exhilaration.

“You look happy, Joe,” said young Folsom.

“I feel so,” said Joe.

“Are you hoping to make your fortune in California?”

“I am hoping to make a living,” said Joe.

“Didn’t you make a living here at home?”

“A poor living, with no prospects ahead. I didn’t mind hard work
and poor clothes, if there had been a prospect of something better
by and by.”

“Tell me your story. Where were you living?” Charles Folsom
listened attentively.

“Major Norton didn’t appear disposed to pamper you, or bring you
up in luxury, that’s a fact. It would have been hard lines if, on
account of losing your aunt’s legacy, you had been compelled to go
back to Oakville.”

“I wouldn’t have gone,” said Joe resolutely.

“What would you have done?”

“Stayed in New York, and got a living somehow, even if I had to
black boots in the street.”

“I guess you’ll do. You’ve got the right spirit. It takes boys and
men like you for pioneers.”

Joe was gratified at his companion’s approval.

“Now,” said Folsom, “I may as well tell you my story. I am the
son of a New York merchant who is moderately rich. I entered the
counting-room at seventeen, and have remained there ever since,
with the exception of four months spent in Europe.”

“If you are rich already, why do you go out to California?” asked
Joe.

“I am not going to the mines; I am going to prospect a little for
the firm. Some day San Francisco will be a large city. I am going
to see how soon it will pay for our house to establish a branch
there.”

“I see,” said Joe.

“I shall probably go out to the mines and take a general survey of
the country; but, as you see, I do not go out to obtain employment.”

“It must be jolly not to have to work,” said Joe, “but to have
plenty of money to pay your expenses.”

“Well, I suppose it is convenient. I believe you haven’t a large
cash surplus?”

“I have a dollar.”

“You’ve got some pluck to travel so far away from home with such a
slender capital, by Jove!”

“I don’t know that it’s pluck. It’s necessity.”

“Something of both, perhaps. Don’t you feel afraid of what may
happen?”

“No,” said Joe. “California is a new country, and there must be
plenty of work. Now, I am willing to work and I don’t believe I
shall starve.”

“That’s the way to feel, Joe. At the worst, you have me to fall
back upon. I won’t see you suffer.”

“It is very lucky for me. I hope I shan’t give you any trouble.”

“If you do, I’ll tell you of it,” said Folsom, laughing. “The fact
is, I feel rather as if I were your guardian. An odd feeling that,
as hitherto I have been looked after by others. Now it is my turn
to assume authority.”

“You will find me obedient,” said Joe, smiling. “Seriously, I am so
inexperienced in the way of the world that I shall consider it a
great favor if you will give me any hints you may think useful to
me.”

Folsom became more and more pleased with his young charge. He saw
that he was manly, amiable, and of good principles, with only one
great fault--poverty--which he was quite willing to overlook.

They selected their seats in the saloon, and were fortunate enough
to be assigned to the captain’s table. Old travelers know that
those who sit at this table are likely to fare better than those
who are farther removed.

While Folsom was walking the deck with an old friend, whom he had
found among the passengers, Joe went on an exploring expedition.

He made his way to that portion of the deck appropriated to the
steerage passengers. Among them his eye fell on the man who
swindled him.

“You here!” exclaimed the fellow in amazement.

“Yes,” said Joe, “I am here.”

“I thought you said your ticket wasn’t good?”

“It wasn’t, as you very well know.”

“I don’t know anything about it. How did you smuggle yourself
aboard?”

“I didn’t smuggle myself aboard at all. I came on like the rest of
the passengers.”

“Why haven’t I seen you before?”

“I am not a steerage passenger. I am traveling first-class.”

“You don’t mean it!” ejaculated the fellow, thoroughly astonished.
“You told me you hadn’t any more money.”

“So I did, and that shows that you were the man that sold me the
bogus ticket.”

“Nothing of the kind,” said the other, but he seemed taken aback
by Joe’s charge. “Well, all I can say is, that you know how to get
round. When a man or boy can travel first-class without a cent of
money, he’ll do.”

“I wouldn’t have come at all if I had had to swindle a poor boy out
of his money,” said Joe.

Joe walked off without receiving an answer. He took pains to
ascertain the name of the man who had defrauded him. He was entered
on the passenger-list as Henry Hogan.




CHAPTER X

THE DETECTED THIEF


“Do you expect to be seasick, Joe?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Folsom. This is the first time I have ever been
at sea.”

“I have crossed the Atlantic twice, and been sick each time. I
suppose I have a tendency that way.”

“How does it feel?” asked Joe curiously.

Folsom laughed.

“It cannot be described,” he answered.

“Then I would rather remain ignorant,” said Joe.

“You are right. This is a case where ignorance is bliss decidedly.”

Twenty-four hours out Folsom’s anticipations were realized. He
experienced nausea and his head swam.

Returning from a walk on deck, Joe found his guardian lying down in
the stateroom.

“Is anything the matter, Mr. Folsom?”

“Nothing but what I expected. The demon of the sea has me in his
gripe.”

“Can I do anything for you?”

“Nothing at present, Joe. What art can minister to a stomach
diseased? I must wait patiently, and it will wear off. Don’t you
feel any of the symptoms?”

“Oh, no--I feel bully,” said Joe. “I’ve got a capital appetite.”

“I hope you will be spared. It would be dismal for both of us to be
groaning with seasickness.”

“Shall I stay with you?”

“No--go on deck. That is the best way to keep well. My sickness
won’t last more than a day or two.”

The young man’s expectations were realized. After forty-eight hours
he recovered from his temporary indisposition and reappeared on
deck.

He found that his young companion, had made a number of
acquaintances, and had become a general favorite through his frank
and pleasant manners.

“I think you’ll get on, Joe,” said he. “You make friends easily.”

“I try to do it,” said Joe modestly.

“You are fast getting over your country greenness. Of course you
couldn’t help having a share of it, having never lived outside of a
small country village.”

“I am glad you think so, Mr. Folsom. I suppose I was very green and
I haven’t got over it yet, but in six months I hope to get rid of
it wholly.”

“It won’t take six months at the rate you are advancing.”

Day succeeded day and Joe was not sick at all. He carried a good
appetite to every meal and entered into the pleasures of sea life
with zest. He played shuffle-board on deck, guessed daily the
ship’s run, was on the alert for distant sails, and managed in one
way or another to while away the time cheerfully.

They had got into the Gulf of Mexico, when, one day, there was an
unwonted commotion in the steerage.

A poor German had lost forty dollars, the entire capital he was
carrying with him to the new country.

“Some tief has rob me,” he complained, in accents of mingled grief
and anger. “He has rob me of all my gold. He has not left me one
cent.”

“When did you miss the money?” inquired the first officer.

“Just now,” said the poor German.

“When did you see it last?”

“Last night when I went to mine bed.”

“Did you take off your clothes?”

“No.”

“What men sleep near you?”

The German pointed to two. The first was a German.

“But he would not rob me. He is mine friend,” he said. “He is
Fritz.”

“Who is the other man?”

The German pointed to Henry Hogan, the same man who had defrauded
Joe.

“The man’s a fool,” said Hogan. “Does he mean to say a gentleman
like me would steal his paltry money?”

“He hasn’t said so,” said the first officer quietly. “He only said
that you slept near him.”

“He’d better not accuse me,” blustered Hogan.

The officer was a judge of human nature, and Hogan’s manner and
words made him suspect that he was really the guilty party.

“My man,” said he, “you are making a fuss before you are accused.
No charge has been made against you. The man’s money has been
taken, and some one must have taken it.”

“I don’t believe he ever had any,” said Hogan.

“Can you prove that you had the money?” asked the officer,
addressing the German. “Has any one on board seen it in your
possession?”

An Irishman named Riley came forward.

“That can I do,” said he. “It was only yesterday morning that I saw
the man counting his money.”

“In what denomination was the money?”

Pat Riley scratched his head.

“Sure I didn’t know that money belonged to any denomination, sir.”

The officer smiled.

“I mean, was it in five, or ten, or twenty dollar pieces.”

“There was four tens, sir--four gould eagles.”

“Is that right?” inquired the officer, turning to the German.

“Yes, sir, that’s what I had.”

“Then,” said the officer, “it seems clearly proved that our German
friend here had the money he claims. Now, I suggest that the two
men he has said occupied bunks nearest to him shall be searched.
But first, if the man who has taken the money will come forward
voluntarily and return the same, I will guarantee that he shall
receive no punishment.”

He paused for a brief space and looked at Hogan.

Hogan seemed uneasy, but stolid and obstinate.

“Since my offer is not accepted,” said the officer, “let the two
men be searched.”

Fritz, the young German, came forward readily.

“I am ready,” he said.

“I am not,” said Hogan. “I protest against this outrage. It is an
infringement of my rights as an American citizen. If any one dares
to lay hands on me, I will have him arrested as soon as we reach
California.”

His threat produced no effect upon the officer. At a signal two
sailors seized him, and, despite his struggles, turned his pockets
inside out.

Among the contents were found four gold eagles.

“It is my money!” exclaimed the poor German.

“You lie! The money is mine!” said Hogan furiously.

“There was a cross, which I scratched with a pin, on one piece,”
said the German. “Look! see if it is there.”

Examination was made, and the scratch was found just as he
described it.

“The money evidently belongs to the German,” said the officer.
“Give it to him.”

“You are robbing me of my money,” said Hogan.

“Look here, my friend, you had better be quiet,” said the officer
significantly, “or I will have you tied up to keep out of mischief.
You are getting off very well as it is. I have no doubt you have
been up to other dishonest tricks before this one.”

“That is true, sir,” said Joe, speaking up for the first time.
“This is the same man who sold me a bogus ticket, two days before
we sailed, for fifty dollars.”

“It’s a lie!” said Hogan. “I’ll be even with you some time, boy,
for that lie of yours.”

“I don’t care for the threats of such a scoundrel as you are,” said
Joe undauntedly.

“Look out for him, Joe,” said Folsom. “He will try to do you a
mischief some time.”

He would have been confirmed in his opinion had he observed the
glance of hatred with which the detected thief followed his young
ward.




CHAPTER XI

JOE ARRIVES IN SAN FRANCISCO


At the isthmus they exchanged steamers, crossing the narrow neck of
land on the backs of mules. To-day the journey is more rapidly and
comfortably made in a railroad-car. Of the voyage on the Pacific
nothing need be said. The weather was fair, and it was uneventful.

It was a beautiful morning in early September when they came in
sight of the Golden Gate, and, entering the more placid waters of
San Francisco Bay, moored at a short distance from the town.

“What do you think of it, Joe?” asked Charles Folsom.

“I don’t know,” said Joe slowly. “Is this really San Francisco?”

“It is really San Francisco.”

“It doesn’t seem to be much built up yet,” said Joe.

In fact, the appearance of the town would hardly suggest the
stately capital of to-day, which looks out like a queen on the bay
and the ocean, and on either side opens her arms to the Eastern
and Western continents. It was a town of tents and one-story
cabins, irregularly and picturesquely scattered over the hillside,
with here and there a sawmill, where now stand some of the most
prominent buildings of the modern city. For years later there was
a large mound of sand where now the stately Palace Hotel covers
two and a half acres. Where now stand substantial business blocks,
a quarter of a century since there appeared only sandy beaches or
mud-flats, with here and there a wooden pier reaching out into the
bay. Only five years before the town contained but seventy-nine
buildings--thirty-one frame, twenty-six adobe, and the rest
shanties. It had grown largely since then, but even now was only a
straggling village, with the air of recent settlement.

“You expected something more, Joe, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” admitted Joe.

“You must remember how new it is. Ten years, nay, five, will work a
great change in this straggling village. We shall probably live to
see it a city of a hundred thousand inhabitants.”

The passengers were eager to land. They were tired of the long
voyage and anxious to get on shore. They wanted to begin making
their fortunes.

“What are your plans, Joe?” asked Charles Folsom.

“I shall accept the first job that offers,” said Joe. “I can’t
afford to remain idle long with my small capital.”

“Joe,” said the young man seriously, “let me increase your capital
for you. You can pay me back, you know, when it is convenient.
Here, take this gold piece.”

Our young hero shook his head.

“Thank you, Mr. Folsom,” he said, “you are very kind, but I think
it will be better for me to shift on what I have. Then I shall have
to go to work at once, and shall get started in my new career.”

“Suppose you can’t find work?” suggested Folsom.

“I will find it,” said Joe resolutely.

“Perhaps we might take lodgings together, Joe.”

“I can’t afford it,” said Joe. “You’re a gentleman of property, and
I’m a poor boy who has his fortune to make. For the present I must
expect to rough it.”

“Well, Joe, perhaps you are right. At any rate, I admire your pluck
and independent spirit.”

There was a motley crowd collected on the pier and on the beach
when Joe and his friend landed. Rough, bearded men, in Mexican
sombreros and coarse attire--many in shirt-sleeves and with their
pantaloons tucked in their boots--watched the new arrivals with
interest.

“You needn’t feel ashamed of your clothes, Joe,” said Folsom, with
a smile. “You are better dressed than the majority of those we see.”

Joe looked puzzled.

“They don’t look as if they had made their fortunes,” he said.

“Don’t judge by appearances. In a new country people are careless
of appearances. Some of these rough fellows, no doubt, have their
pockets full of gold.”

At this moment a rough-looking fellow stepped forward and said
heartily:

“Isn’t this Charles Folsom?”

“Yes,” answered Folsom, puzzled.

“You don’t remember me?” said the other, laughing.

“Not I.”

“Not remember Harry Carter, your old chum?”

“Good Heaven!” exclaimed Folsom, surveying anew the rough figure
before him. “You don’t mean to say you are Harry Carter?”

“The same, at your service.”

“What a transformation! Why, you used to be rather a swell and
now----”

“Now I look like a barbarian.”

“Well, rather,” said Folsom, laughing.

“You want me to explain? Such toggery as I used to wear would be
the height of folly at the mines.”

“I hope you have had good luck,” said Folsom.

“Pretty fair,” said Carter, in a tone of satisfaction. “My pile has
reached five thousand dollars.”

“And how long have you been at work?”

“A year. I was a bookkeeper in New York on a salary of fifteen
hundred dollars a year. I used to spend all my income--the more
fool I--till the last six months, when I laid by enough to bring me
out here.”

“Then you have really bettered yourself?”

“I should say so. I could only save up five hundred dollars a year
at the best in New York. Here I have crowded ten years into one.”

“In spite of your large outlay for clothes?”

“I see you will have your joke. Now, what brings you out here? Are
you going to the mines?”

“Presently, but not to dig. I came to survey the country.”

“Let me do what I can for you.”

“I will. First, what hotel shall I go to?”

“There is the Leidesdorff House, on California Street. I’ll lead
you there.”

“Thank you. Will you come, Joe?”

“Yes, I will go to find out where it is.”

The three bent their steps to the hotel referred to. It was a
shanty compared with the magnificent hotels which now open their
portals to strangers, but the charge was ten dollars a day and the
fare was of the plainest.

“I guess I won’t stop here,” said Joe, “My money wouldn’t keep me
here more than an hour or two.”

“At any rate, Joe, you must dine with me,” said Folsom. “Then you
may start out for yourself.”

“You must dine with me, both of you,” said Carter.

Folsom saw that he was in earnest, and accepted.

The dinner was plain but abundant, and all three did justice to it.
Joe did not know till afterward that the dinner cost five dollars
apiece.

After dinner the two friends sat down to talk over old times and
mutual friends, but Joe felt that there was no time for him to
lose. He had his fortune to make. Still more important, he had his
living to make, and in a place where dollars were held as cheap as
dimes in New York or Boston.

So, emerging into the street, with his small bundle under his arm,
he bent his steps as chance directed.




CHAPTER XII

JOE FINDS A JOB


Joe knew nothing about the streets or their names. Chance brought
him to Clay Street, between what is now Montgomery and Kearny
Streets. Outside of a low wooden building, which appeared to be a
restaurant, was a load of wood.

“I wonder if I couldn’t get the chance to saw and split that wood?”
thought Joe.

It would not do to be bashful. So he went in.

A stout man in an apron was waiting on the guests. Joe concluded
that this must be the proprietor.

“Sit down, boy,” said he, “if you want some dinner.”

“I’ve had my dinner,” said Joe. “Don’t you want that wood outside
sawed and split?”

“Yes.”

“Let me do it.”

“Go ahead.”

There was a saw and saw-horse outside. The work was not new to Joe,
and he went at it vigorously. No bargain had been made, but Joe
knew so little of what would be considered a fair price that in
this first instance he chose to leave it to his employer.

As he was at work Folsom and his friend passed by.

“Have you found a job already?” said Folsom.

“Yes, sir.”

“You have kept your promise, Joe. You said you would take the first
job that offered.”

“Yes, Mr. Folsom; I meant what I said.”

“Come round to the Leidesdorff House this evening and tell me how
you made out.”

“Thank you, sir, I will.”

“That seems a smart boy,” said Carter.

“Yes, he is. Help him along if you have a chance.”

“I will. I like his pluck.”

“He has no false pride. He is ready to do anything.”

“Everybody is here. You know Jim Graves, who used to have his
shingle up as a lawyer on Nassau Street?”

“Yes. Is he here?”

“He has been here three months. What do you think he is doing?”

“I couldn’t guess.”

“I don’t think you could. He has turned drayman.” Charles Folsom
gazed at his friend in wonder.

“Turned drayman!” he exclaimed. “Is he reduced to that?”

“Reduced to that! My dear fellow, you don’t understand the use of
language. Graves is earning fifteen dollars a day at his business,
and I don’t believe he made that in New York in a month.”

“Well, it is a strange state of society. Does he mean to be a
drayman all his life?”

“Of course not. A year hence he may be a capitalist, or a lawyer
again. Meanwhile he is saving money.”

“He is a sensible man, after all; but, you see, Carter, it takes
time to adjust my ideas to things here. The first surprise was your
rough appearance.”

“There is one advantage my rough life has brought me,” said Carter.
“It has improved my health. I was given to dyspepsia when I lived
in New York. Now I really believe I could digest a tenpenny nail,
or--an eating-house mince pie, which is more difficult.”

“You have steep hills in San Francisco.”

“Yes, it is something of a climb to the top of Clay Street Hill.
When you get to the top you get a fine view, though.”

Now the hill may be ascended in cars drawn up the steeply graded
sides by an endless rope running just below the surface. No such
arrangement had been thought of then. Folsom gave out when he had
completed half the ascent.

“I’ll be satisfied with the prospect from here,” he said.

Meanwhile Joe kept steadily at his task.

“It will take me three hours and a half, possibly four,” he said
to himself, after a survey of the pile. “I wonder what pay I shall
receive.”

While thus employed many persons passed him.

One among them paused and accosted him.

“So you have found work already?” he said.

Looking up, Joe recognized Harry Hogan, the man who had swindled
him. He didn’t feel inclined to be very social with this man.

“Yes,” said he coldly.

“Rather strange work for a first-class passenger.”

He envied Joe because he had traveled first-class, while he had
thought himself fortunate, with the help his dishonesty gave him,
in being able to come by steerage.

“It is very suitable employment for a boy who has no money,” said
Joe.

“How much are you going to be paid for the job?” asked Hogan, with
sudden interest, for ten dollars constituted his only remaining
funds.

If his theft on shipboard had not been detected he would have been
better provided.

“I don’t know,” said Joe shortly.

“You didn’t make any bargain, then?”

“No.”

“What are you going to do next?” inquired Hogan.

“I don’t know,” said Joe.

Hogan finally moved off.

“I hate that boy,” he soliloquized. “He puts on airs for a country
boy. So he’s getting too proud to talk to me, is he? We’ll see, Mr.
Joseph Mason.”

Joe kept on till his task was completed, put on his coat and went
into the restaurant.

It was the supper-hour.

“I’ve finished the job,” said Joe, in a businesslike tone.

The German took a look at Joe’s work.

“You did it up good,” he said. “How much you want?”

“I don’t know. What would be a fair price?”

“I will give you some supper and five dollars.”

Joe could hardly believe his ears. Five dollars and a supper for
four hours’ work! Surely he had come to the Land of Gold in very
truth.

“Will dat do?”

“Oh, yes,” said Joe. “I didn’t expect so much.”

“You shouldn’t tell me dat. It isn’t business.”

Joe pocketed the gold piece which he received with a thrill of
exultation. He had never received so much in value for a week’s
work before. Just then a man paid two dollars for a very plain
supper.

“That makes my pay seven dollars,” said Joe to himself. “If I can
get steady work, I can get rich very quick,” he thought.

There was one thing, however, that Joe did not take into account.
If his earnings were likely to be large, his expenses would be
large, too. So he might receive a good deal of money and not lay up
a cent.

“Shall you have any more work to do?” asked Joe.

“Not shoost now,” answered the German. “You can look round in a
week. Maybe I have some then.”




CHAPTER XIII

JOE’S HOTEL


Before going to the Leidesdorff House to call upon his friend
Folsom, Joe thought he would try to make arrangements for the night.

He came to the St. Francis Hotel, on the corner of Dupont and Clay
Streets. There was an outside stair that led to the balcony that
ran all round the second story. The doors of the rooms opened upon
this balcony.

A man came out from the office.

“Can I get lodging here?” asked Joe.

“Yes.”

“How much do you charge?”

“Three dollars.”

“He must take me for a millionaire,” thought Joe.

“I can’t afford it,” he said.

As Joe descended the stairs he did not feel quite so rich. Six
dollars won’t go far when lodging costs three dollars and supper
two.

Continuing his wanderings, Joe came to a tent, which seemed to be a
hotel in its way, for it had “Lodgings” inscribed on the canvas in
front.

“What do you charge for lodgings?” Joe inquired.

“A dollar,” was the reply.

Looking in, Joe saw that the accommodations were of the plainest.
Thin pallets were spread about without pillows. Joe was not used to
luxury but to sleep here would be roughing it even for him. But he
was prepared to rough it, and concluded that he might as well pass
the night here.

“All right!” said he. “I’ll be round by and by.”

“Do you want to pay in advance to secure your bed?”

“I guess not; I’ll take the risk.”

Joe went on to the Leidesdorff Hotel and was cordially received by
Mr. Folsom.

“How much have you earned to-day, Joe?”

“Five dollars and my supper.”

“That’s good. Is the job finished?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you have nothing in view for to-morrow?”

“No, sir; but I guess I shall run across a job.”

“Where are you going to spend the night?”

“In a tent a little way down the street.”

“How much will they charge you?”

“One dollar.”

“I wish my bed was large enough to hold two; you should be welcome
to a share of it. But they don’t provide very wide bedsteads in
this country.”

Mr. Folsom’s bed was about eighteen inches wide.

“Thank you, sir,” said Joe; “I shall do very well in the tent, I am
sure.”

“I am thinking of making a trip to the mines with my friend
Carter,” continued Folsom. “Very likely we shall start to-morrow.
Do you want to go with us?”

“I expect to go to the mines,” said Joe, “but I think I had better
remain awhile in San Francisco, and lay by a little money. You know
I am in debt.”

“In debt?”

“Yes, for my passage. I should like to pay that off.”

“There is no hurry about it, Joe.”

“I’d like to get it off my mind, Mr. Folsom.”

About nine o’clock Joe left the hotel and sought the tent where he
proposed to pass the night. He was required to pay in advance, and
willingly did so.




CHAPTER XIV

JOE’S SECOND DAY


Joe woke up at seven o’clock the next morning. Though his bed was
hard, he slept well, for he was fatigued. He stretched himself
and sat up on his pallet. It is needless to say that he had not
undressed. Three or four men were lying near him, all fast asleep
except one, and that one he recognized as Henry Hogan.

“Halloo!” said Hogan. “You here?”

“Yes,” said Joe, not overpleased at the meeting.

“We seem to keep together,” said Hogan, with a grin.

“So it seems,” said Joe coldly.

Hogan, however, seemed disposed to be friendly.

“Pretty rough accommodations for the money.”

“It doesn’t make so much difference where money is earned easily.”

“How much money did you make yesterday?”

Joe’s first thought was to tell him it was none of his business,
but he thought better of it.

“I made seven dollars,” said he, rather proudly.

“Pretty good, but I beat you,” said Hogan.

“How much did you make?”

“I’ll show you.”

Hogan showed five half-eagles.

“I made it in ten minutes,” he said.

Joe was decidedly mystified.

“You are fooling me,” he said.

“No, I am not. I made it at the gaming-table.”

“Oh!” said Joe, a little startled, for he had been brought up to
think gambling wicked.

“Better come and try your luck with me,” said Hogan. “It is easier
and quicker than sawing wood.”

“Perhaps it is,” said Joe, “but I’d rather saw wood.”

“I suspect you are a young Puritan.”

“Perhaps I am,” said Joe. “At any rate, I don’t mean to gamble.”

“Just as you like. I can’t afford to be so particular.”

“You don’t seem to be very particular,” said Joe.

“What do you mean?” inquired Hogan suspiciously.

“You know well enough,” said Joe. “You know the way you had of
getting money in New York. You know the way you tried to get it on
board the steamer.”

“Look here, young fellow,” said Hogan menacingly, “I’ve heard
enough of this. You won’t find it safe to run against me. I’m a
tough customer, you’ll find.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Joe.

“Then just be careful, will you? I ain’t going to have you slander
me and prejudice people against me, and I mean to protect myself.
Do you understand me?”

“I think I do, Mr. Hogan, but I don’t feel particularly alarmed.”

Joe got up and went out in search of breakfast. Be thought of the
place where he took supper but was deterred from going there by the
high prices.

“I suppose I shall have to pay a dollar for my breakfast,” he
thought, “but I can’t afford to pay two. My capital is reduced to
five dollars and I may not be able to get anything to do to-day.”

Joe finally succeeded in finding a humble place where for a dollar
he obtained a cup of coffee, a plate of cold meat, and as much
bread as he could eat.

“I shall have to make it do with two meals a day,” thought our
hero. “Then it will cost me three dollars a day to live, including
lodging, and I shall have to be pretty lucky to make that.”

After breakfast Joe walked about the streets, hoping that something
would turn up. But his luck did not seem to be so good as the day
before. Hour after hour passed and no chance offered itself. As he
was walking along feeling somewhat anxious, he met Hogan.

“Lend me a dollar,” said Hogan quickly. “I’m dead broke.”

“Where has all your money gone?” asked Joe.

“Lost it at faro. Lend me a dollar and I’ll win it all back.”

“I have no money to spare,” said Joe decidedly.

“Curse you for a young skinflint!” said Hogan, scowling. “I’ll get
even with you yet.”




CHAPTER XV

THE FOILED ASSASSIN


About four o’clock Joe went into a restaurant and got some dinner.
In spite of his wish to be economical, his dinner bill amounted to
a dollar and a half, and now his cash in hand was reduced to two
dollars and a half.

Joe began to feel uneasy.

“This won’t do,” he said to himself. “At this rate I shall soon be
penniless. I must get something to do.”

In the evening he strolled down Montgomery Street to Telegraph
Hill. It was not a very choice locality, the only buildings being
shabby little dens, frequented by a class of social outlaws who
kept concealed during the day but came out at night--a class to
which the outrages frequent at this time were rightly attributed.

Joe was stumbling along the uneven path, when all at once he found
himself confronted by a tall fellow wearing a slouched hat. The man
paused in front of him, but did not say a word. Finding that he was
not disposed to move aside, Joe stepped aside himself. He did not
as yet suspect the fellow’s purpose. He understood it, however,
when a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder.

“Quick, boy, your money!” said the ruffian.

Having but two dollars and a half, Joe naturally felt reluctant to
part with it, and this gave him the courage to object.

“I’ve got none to spare,” he said and tried to tear himself away.

His resistance led the fellow to suspect that he had a considerable
sum with him. Joe felt himself seized and carried into a den close
by, which was frequented by thieves and desperate characters.

There was a counter, on which was set a dim oil-lamp. There were
a few bottles in sight, and a villainous-looking fellow appeared
to preside over the establishment. The latter looked up as Joe was
brought in.

“Who have you there?” asked the barkeeper.

“A young cove as don’t want to part with his money.”

“You’d better hand over what you’ve got, young ’un.”

Joe looked from one to the other and thought he had never seen such
villainous faces before.

“What are you lookin’ at?” demanded his captor suspiciously, “You
want to know us again, do you? Maybe you’d like to get us hauled
up, would you?”

“I don’t want ever to set eyes on you again.”

“That’s the way to talk. As soon as our business is over, there
ain’t no occasion for our meetin’ again. Don’t you go to point us
out, or----”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but whipped out a long knife, which
made any further remarks unnecessary.

Under the circumstances, resistance would be madness and Joe drew
out his money.

“Is that all you’ve got?” demanded the thief.

“Every cent,” said Joe. “It won’t leave me anything to pay for my
night’s lodging.”

“Then you can sleep out. I’ve done it many a time. But I’ll take
the liberty of searching you, and seeing if you tell the truth or
not.”

“Just as you like,” said Joe.

Joe was searched, but no more money was found.

“The boy’s told the truth,” said his captor. “Two dollars and a
half is a pretty small haul.”

“I am sorry, gentlemen, that I haven’t anything more. It isn’t
my fault, for I’ve tried hard to get something to do to-day, and
couldn’t.”

“You’re a cool customer,” said the barkeeper.

“I expect to be to-night, for I shall have to sleep out.”

“You can go,” said his captor, as he opened the door of the den;
“and don’t come round here again, unless you’ve got more money with
you.”

“I don’t think I shall,” said Joe.

When Joe found himself penniless, he really felt less anxious than
when he had at least money enough to pay for lodging and breakfast.
Having lost everything, any turn of fortune must be for the better.

“Something has got to turn up pretty quick,” thought Joe. “It’s
just as well I didn’t get a job to-day. I should only have had more
money to lose.”

He had not walked a hundred feet when his attention was called
to the figure of a gentleman walking some rods in front of him.
He saw it but indistinctly, and would not have given it a second
thought had he not seen that the person, whoever he might be, was
stealthily followed by a man who in general appearance resembled
the rascal who had robbed him of his money. The pursuer carried in
his hand a canvas bag filled with sand. This, though Joe did not
know it, was a dangerous weapon in the hands of a lawless human.
Brought down heavily upon the head of an unlucky traveler, it often
produced instant death, without leaving any outward marks that
would indicate death from violence.

Though Joe didn’t comprehend the use of the sand-bag, his own
recent experience and the stealthy movement of the man behind
convinced him that mischief was intended. He would have been
excusable if, being but a boy and no match for an able-bodied
ruffian, he had got out of the way. But Joe had more courage than
falls to the share of most boys of sixteen. He felt a chivalrous
desire to rescue the unsuspecting stranger from the peril that
menaced him.

Joe, too, imitating the stealthy motion of the pursuer, swiftly
gained upon him, overtaking him just as he had the sand-bag poised
aloft, ready to be brought down upon the head of the traveler.

With a cry, Joe rushed upon the would-be assassin, causing him to
stumble and fall, while the gentleman in front turned round in
amazement.

Joe sprang to his side.

“Have you a pistol?” he said quickly.

Scarcely knowing what he did, the gentleman drew out a pistol and
put it in Joe’s hand. Joe cocked it, and stood facing the ruffian.

The desperado was on his feet, fury in his looks and a curse upon
his lips. He swung the sand-bag aloft.

“Curse you!” he said. “I’ll make you pay for this!”

“One step forward,” said Joe, in a clear, distinct voice, which
betrayed not a particle of fear, “and I will put a bullet through
your brain!”

The assassin stepped back. He was a coward, who attacked from
behind. He looked in the boy’s resolute face, and he saw he was in
earnest.

“Put down that weapon, you whipper-snapper!”

“Not much!” answered Joe.

“I’ve a great mind to kill you!”

“I’ve no doubt of it,” said our hero; “but you’d better not attack
me. I am armed, and I will fire if you make it necessary. Now, turn
round and leave us.”

“Will you promise not to shoot?”

“Yes, if you go off quietly.”

The order was obeyed, but not very willingly.

When the highwayman had moved off, Joe said:

“Now, sir, we’d better be moving, and pretty quickly, or the fellow
may return, with some of his friends, and overpower us. Where are
you stopping?”

“At the Waverly House.”

“That is near-by. We will go there at once.”

They soon reached the hotel, a large wooden building on the north
side of Pacific Street.

Joe was about to bid his acquaintance good night but the latter
detained him.

“Come in, my boy,” he said. “You have done me a great service. I
must know more of you.”




CHAPTER XVI

JOE’S NEW FRIEND


“Come up to my room,” said the stranger.

He obtained a candle at the office, gas not being used in San
Francisco at that time, and led the way to a small chamber on the
second floor.

“Now, sit down, my boy, and tell me your name.”

“Joseph Mason.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Less than a week.”

“I only arrived yesterday. But for your help, my residence might
have been a brief one.”

“I am glad I have been able to be of service to you.”

“You were a friend in need, and a friend in need is a friend
indeed. It is only fair that I should be a friend to you. It’s a
poor rule that doesn’t work both ways.”

Joe was favorably impressed with the speaker’s appearance. He was a
man of middle height, rather stout, with a florid complexion, and
an open, friendly face.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, “I need a friend, and shall be glad of
your friendship.”

“Then here’s my hand. Take it, and let us ratify our friendship.”

Joe took the proffered hand and shook it cordially.

“My name is George Morgan,” said the stranger. “I came from
Philadelphia. Now we know each other. Where are you staying?”

Joe’s face flushed and he looked embarrassed.

“Just before I came up with you,” he answered, thinking frankness
best, “I was robbed of two dollars and a half, all the money I had
in this world. I shall have to stop in the streets to-night.”

“Not if I know it,” said Morgan emphatically. “This bed isn’t very
large, but you are welcome to a share of it. To-morrow we will form
our plans.”

“Shan’t I inconvenience you, sir?” asked Joe.

“Not a bit,” answered Morgan heartily.

“Then I will stay, sir, and thank you. After the adventure I have
had to-night, I shouldn’t enjoy being out in the streets.”

“Tell me how you came to be robbed. Was it by the same man who made
the attack upon me?”

“No, sir. I wish it had been, as then I should feel even with him.
It was a man that looked very much like him, though.”

Joe gave an account of the robbery, to which his new friend
listened with attention.

“Evidently,” he said, “the street we were in is not a very safe
one. Have you had any supper?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Luckily, I got that and paid for it before I had my
money taken.”

“Good. Now, as I am tired, I will go to bed, and you can follow
when you feel inclined.”

“I will go now, sir. I have been walking the streets all day, in
search of work, and, though I found none, I am tired, all the same.”

They woke up at seven o’clock.

“How did you rest, Joe?” asked George Morgan.

“Very well, sir.”

“Do you feel ready for breakfast?”

“As soon as I can earn money enough to pay for it.”

“Don’t trouble yourself about that. You are going to breakfast with
me.”

“You are very kind, Mr. Morgan, but I wish you had some work for me
to do, so that I could pay you.”

“That may come after awhile. It might not be safe to delay your
breakfast till you could pay for it. Remember, you have done me a
great service, which fifty breakfasts couldn’t pay for.”

“Don’t think of that, Mr. Morgan,” said Joe modestly. “Anybody
would do what I did.”

“I am not sure whether everybody would have the courage. But you
must leave me to show my appreciation of your services in my own
way.”

They took breakfast in the hotel and walked out.

Though it was early, the town was already astir. People got up
early in those days. Building was going on here and there. Draymen
were piloting heavy loads through the streets--rough enough in
general appearance, but drawn from very unlikely social grades.

“By Jove!” said Morgan, in surprise, his glance resting on a young
man of twenty-five, who was in command of a dray. “Do you hear that
drayman?”

“Is he a foreigner?” asked Joe. “I don’t understand what he is
saying.”

“He is talking to his horse in Greek, quoting from Homer. Look
here, my friend!” he said, hailing the drayman.

“What is it, sir?” said the young man courteously.

“Didn’t I hear you quoting Greek just now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How happens it that a classical scholar like you finds himself in
such a position?”

The young man smiled.

“How much do you think I am earning?”

“I can’t guess. I am a stranger in this city.”

“Twenty dollars a day.”

“Capital! I don’t feel as much surprised as I did. Are you a
college graduate?”

“Yes, sir. I was graduated at Yale. Then I studied law and three
months since I came out here. It takes time to get into practise
at home and I had no resources to fall back upon. I raised money
enough to bring me to California and came near starving the
first week I was here. I couldn’t wait to get professional work,
but I had an offer to drive a dray. I am a farmer’s son and was
accustomed to hard work as a boy. I accepted the offer and here I
am. I can lay up half my earnings and am quite satisfied.”

“But you won’t be a drayman all your life?”

“Oh, no, sir. But I may as well keep at it till I can get into
something more to my taste.”

And the young lawyer drove off.

“It’s a queer country,” said Morgan. “It’s hard to gauge a man by
his occupation here, I see.”

“I wish I could get a dray to drive,” said Joe.

“You are not old enough or strong enough yet. I am looking for
some business myself, Joe, but I can’t at all tell what I shall
drift into. At home I was a dry-goods merchant. My partner and I
disagreed and I sold out to him. I drew ten thousand dollars out
of the concern, invested four-fifths of it, and have come out here
with the remainder, to see what I can do.”

“Ten thousand dollars! What a rich man you must be!” said Joe.

“In your eyes, my boy. As you get older, you will find that it
will not seem so large to you. At any rate, I hope to increase it
considerably.”

They were walking on Kearny Street, near California Street, when
Joe’s attention was drawn, to a sign:

                     =THIS RESTAURANT FOR SALE=

It was a one-story building, of small dimensions, not fashionable,
nor elegant in its appointments, but there wasn’t much style in San
Francisco at that time.

“Would you like to buy out the restaurant?” asked Morgan.

“I don’t feel like buying anything out with empty pockets,” said
Joe.

“Let us go in.”

The proprietor was a man of middle age.

“Why do you wish to sell out?” asked Morgan.

“I want to go to the mines. I need an out-of-door life and want a
change.”

“Does this business pay?”

“Sometimes I have made seventy-five dollars profit in a day.”

“How much do you ask for the business?”

“I’ll take five hundred dollars, cash.”

“Have you a reliable cook?”

“Yes. He knows his business.”

“Will he stay?”

“For the present. If you want a profitable business, you will do
well to buy.”

“I don’t want it for myself. I want it for this young man.”

“For this boy?” asked the restaurant-keeper, surprised.

Joe looked equally surprised.




CHAPTER XVII

JOE STARTS IN BUSINESS


“Do you think you can keep a hotel, Joe?” asked Morgan.

“I can try,” said Joe promptly.

“Come in, gentlemen,” said the restaurant-keeper.

“We can talk best inside.”

The room was small, holding but six tables. In the rear was the
kitchen.

“Let me see your scale of prices,” said Morgan.

It was shown him.

“I could breakfast cheaper at Delmonico’s,” he said.

“And better,” said the proprietor of the restaurant; “but I find
people here willing to pay big prices, and, as long as that’s the
case, I should be a fool to reduce them. Yes, there’s a splendid
profit to be made in the business. I ought to charge a thousand
dollars, instead of five hundred.”

“Why don’t you?” asked Morgan bluntly.

“Because I couldn’t get it. Most men, when they come out here, are
not content to settle down in the town. They won’t be satisfied
till they get to the mines.”

“That seems to be the case with you, too.”

“It isn’t that altogether. My lungs are weak and confinement isn’t
good for me. Besides, the doctors say the climate in the interior
is better for pulmonary affections.”

“What rent do you have to pay?”

“A small ground-rent. I put up this building myself.”

“How soon can you give possession?”

“Right off.”

“Will you stay here three days, to initiate my young friend into
the mysteries of the business?”

“Oh, yes; I’ll do that willingly.”

“Then I will buy you out.”

In five minutes the business was settled.

“Joe,” said Morgan, “let me congratulate you. You are now one of
the business men of San Francisco.”

“It seems like a dream to me, Mr. Morgan,” said Joe. “This morning
when I waked up I wasn’t worth a cent.”

“And now you own five hundred dollars,” said Mr. Morgan, laughing.

“That wasn’t exactly the way I thought of it, sir, but are you not
afraid to trust me to that amount?”

“No, I am not, Joe,” said Morgan seriously. “I think you are a boy
of energy and integrity. I don’t see why you shouldn’t succeed.”

“Suppose I shouldn’t?”

“I shall not trouble myself about the loss. In all probability, you
saved my life last evening. That is worth to me many times what I
have invested for you.”

“I want to give you my note for the money,” said Joe. “If I live, I
will pay you, with interest.”

“I agree with you. We may as well put it on a business basis.”

Papers were drawn up, and Joe found himself proprietor of the
restaurant. He lost no opportunity of mastering the details of the
business. He learned where his predecessor obtained his supplies,
what prices he paid, about how much he required for a day’s
consumption, and what was his scale of prices.

“Do you live here, Mr. Brock?” asked Joe.

“Yes; I have a bed, which I lay in a corner of the restaurant. Thus
I avoid the expense of a room outside, and am on hand early for
business.”

“I’ll do the same,” said Joe promptly.

“In that way you will have no personal expenses, except clothing
and washing,” said Brock.

“I shall be glad to have no bills to pay for board,” said Joe.
“That’s rather a steep item here.”

“So it is.”

“I don’t see but I can save up pretty much all I make,” said Joe.

“Certainly you can.”

In two days Joe, who was naturally quick and whose natural
shrewdness was sharpened by his personal interest, mastered the
details of the business, and felt that he could manage alone.

“Mr. Brock,” said he, “you promised to stay with me three days, but
I won’t insist upon the third day. I think I can get along well
without you.”

“If you can, I shall be glad to leave you at once. The fact is, a
friend of mine starts for the mines to-morrow, and I would like to
accompany him. I asked him to put it off a day, but he thinks he
can’t.”

“Go with him, by all means. I can get along.”

So, on the morning of the third day, Joe found himself alone.

At the end of the first week he made a careful estimate of his
expenses and receipts, and found, to his astonishment, that he had
cleared two hundred dollars. It seemed to him almost incredible,
and he went over the calculations again and again. But he could
figure out no other result.

“Two hundred dollars in one week!” he said to himself. “What would
Oscar say to that? It seems like a fairy tale.”

Joe did not forget that he was five hundred dollars In debt. He
went to George Morgan, who had bought out for himself a gentlemen’s
furnishing store, and said:

“Mr. Morgan, I want to pay up a part of that debt.”

“So soon, Joe? How much do you want to pay?”

“A hundred and fifty dollars.”

“You don’t mean to say that you have cleared that amount?” said
Morgan, in amazement.

“Yes, sir, and fifty dollars more.”

“Very well. I will receive the money. You do well to wipe out your
debts as soon as possible.”

Joe paid over the money with no little satisfaction.

Without going too much into detail, it may be stated that at the
end of a month Joe was out of debt and had three hundred dollars
over. He called on the owner of the land to pay the monthly
ground-rent.

“Why don’t you buy the land, and get rid of the rent?” asked the
owner.

“Do you want to sell?” asked Joe.

“Yes; I am about to return to the East.”

“What do you ask?”

“I own two adjoining lots. You may have them all for a thousand
dollars.”

“Will you give me time?”

“I can’t. I want to return at once, and I must have the cash.”

A thought struck Joe.

“I will take three hours to consider,” said Joe.

He went to George Morgan and broached his business.

“Mr. Morgan,” he said, “will you lend me seven hundred dollars?”

“Are you getting into pecuniary difficulties, Joe?” asked Morgan,
concerned.

“No, sir; but I want to buy some real estate.”

“Explain yourself.”

Joe did so.

“It is the best thing you can do,” said Morgan, “I will lend you
the money.”

“I hope to repay it inside of two months,” said Joe.

“I think you will, judging from what you have done already.”

In two hours Joe had paid over the entire amount, for it will be
remembered that he had three hundred dollars of his own, and was
owner of three city lots.

“Now,” thought he, “I must attend to business, and clear off the
debt I have incurred. I shan’t feel as if the land is mine till I
have paid for it wholly.”

Joe found it a great advantage that he obtained his own board and
lodging free. Though wages were high, the necessary expenses of
living were so large that a man earning five dollars a day was
worse off oftentimes than one who was earning two dollars at the
East.

“How shall I make my restaurant more attractive?” thought Joe.

He decided first that he would buy good articles and insist upon
as much neatness as possible about the tables. At many of the
restaurants very little attention was paid to this, and visitors
who had been accustomed to neatness at home were repelled.

Soon Joe’s dining-room acquired a reputation, and the patronage
increased. At the end of the third month he had not only paid up
the original loan of seven hundred dollars, but was the owner of
the three lots, and had four hundred dollars over. He began to feel
that his prosperity was founded on a solid basis.

One day about this time, as he was at the desk where he received
money from his patrons as they went out, his attention was drawn to
a rough fellow, having the appearance of a tramp, entering at the
door. The man’s face seemed familiar to him, and it flashed upon
him that it was Henry Hogan, who had defrauded him in New York.

The recognition was mutual.

“You here?” he exclaimed, in surprise.

“So it seems,” said Joe.

“Is it a good place?”

“I like it.”

“Who’s your boss?”

“Myself.”

“You don’t mean to say this is your own place?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, I’ll be blowed!” ejaculated Hogan, staring stupidly at Joe.




CHAPTER XVIII

MR. HOGAN’S PROPOSAL


Joe enjoyed Hogan’s amazement. He felt rather proud of his rapid
progress. It was not four months since, a poor, country boy, he had
come up to New York, and fallen a prey to a designing sharper. Now,
on the other side of the continent, he was master of a business and
owner of real estate.

The day has passed for such rapid progress. California is no longer
a new country, and the conditions of living closely approximate
those in the East. I am careful to say this because I don’t wish to
mislead my young readers. Success is always attainable by pluck and
persistency, but the degree is dependent on circumstances.

“How have you made out?” asked Joe of his visitor.

“I’ve had hard luck,” grumbled Hogan, “I went to the mines, but I
wasn’t lucky.”

“Was that the case with other miners?” asked Joe, who had a shrewd
suspicion that Hogan’s ill-luck was largely the result of his
laziness and want of application.

“No,” said Hogan. “Other men around me were lucky, but I wasn’t.”

“Perhaps your claim was a poor one.”

“It was, as long as I had anything to do with it,” said Hogan. “I
sold it out for a trifle and the next day the other man found a
nugget. Wasn’t that cursed hard?” he grumbled.

“You ought to have kept on. Then you would have found the nugget.”

“No, I shouldn’t. I am too unlucky. If I had held on, it wouldn’t
have been there. You’ve got on well. You’re lucky.”

“Yes; I have no reason to complain. But I wasn’t lucky all the
time. I was robbed of every cent of money, when I met a good
friend, who bought this business for me.”

“Does it pay?” asked the other eagerly.

“Yes, it pays,” said Joe cautiously.

“How much do you make, say, in a week?” asked Hogan, leaning his
elbows on the counter and looking up in Joe’s face.

“Really, Mr. Hogan,” said Joe, “I don’t feel called upon to tell my
business to others.”

“I thought maybe you’d tell an old friend,” said Hogan.

Joe could not help laughing at the man’s matchless impudence.

“I don’t think you have treated me exactly like a friend, Mr.
Hogan,” he said. “You certainly did all you could to prevent my
coming to California.”

“There’s some mistake about that,” said Hogan.

“You’re under a misapprehension; but I won’t go into that matter
now. Will you trust me for my supper?”

“Yes,” said Joe promptly. “Sit down at that table.”

The man had treated him badly, but things had turned out favorably
for Joe, and he would not let Hogan suffer from hunger, if he could
relieve him.

Hogan needed no second invitation. He took a seat at a table
near-by, and ate enough for two men, but Joe could not repeat the
invitation he had given. He felt that he could not afford it.

It was rather late when Hogan sat down. When he finished, he was
the only one left in the restaurant, except Joe. He sauntered up to
the desk.

“You’ve got a good cook,” said Hogan, picking his teeth with a
knife.

“Yes,” answered Joe. “I think so.”

“You say the business pays well?”

“Yes; it satisfies me.”

“Are you alone? Have you no partner?”

“You could do better with one. Suppose you take me into business
with you?”

Joe was considerably surprised at this proposition from a man who
had swindled him.

“How much capital can you furnish?” he asked.

“I haven’t got any money. I’m dead broke,” said Hogan, “but I can
give my services. I can wait on the table. I’ll do that, and you
can give me my board and one-third of the profits. Come, now,
that’s a good offer. What do you say?”

Joe thought it best to be candid.

“I don’t want any partner, Mr. Hogan,” he said; “and I may as well
tell you, I don’t think I should care to be associated with you if
I did.”

“Do you mean to insult me?” asked Hogan, scowling.

“No; but I may as well be candid.”

“What’s the matter with me?” asked Hogan roughly.

“I don’t like the way you do business,” said Joe.

“Look here, young one, you put on too many airs just because you’re
keepin’ a one-horse restaurant,” said Hogan angrily.

“If it’s a one-horse restaurant, why do you want to become my
partner?” retorted Joe coolly.

“Because I’m hard up--I haven’t got a cent.”

“I’m sorry for you; but a man needn’t be in that condition long
here.”

“Where do you sleep?” asked Hogan suddenly.

“Here. I put a bed on the floor in one corner, and so am on hand in
the morning.”

“I say,” Hogan continued insinuatingly, “won’t you let me stay here
to-night?”

“Sleep here?”

“Yes.”

“I’d rather not, Mr. Hogan.”

“I haven’t a cent to pay for a lodging. If you don’t take me in, I
shall have to stay in the street all night.”

“You’ve slept out at the mines, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can do it here.”

“You’re hard on a poor man,” whined Hogan. “It wouldn’t cost you
anything to let me sleep here.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” said Joe; “but I prefer to choose my own company
at night.”

“I may catch my death of cold,” said Hogan.

“I hope not; but I don’t keep lodgings,” said Joe firmly.

“You haven’t any feeling for an unlucky man.”

“I have given you your supper, and not stinted you in any way.
What you ate would cost two dollars at my regular prices. I wasn’t
called to do it, for you never did me any service, and you are
owing me to-day fifty dollars, which you cheated me out of when I
was a poor boy. I won’t let you lodge here, but I will give you a
breakfast in the morning, if you choose to come round. Then you
will be strengthened for a day’s work, and can see what you can
find to do.”

Hogan saw that Joe was in earnest and walked out of the restaurant,
without a word.

When Joe was about to close his doors for the night his attention
was drawn to a man who was sitting down on the ground, a few feet
distant, with his head buried between his two hands, in an attitude
expressive of despondency.

Joe was warm-hearted and sympathetic, and, after a moment’s
hesitation, addressed the stranger.

“Is anything the matter with you, sir?” he asked. “Don’t you feel
well?”

The man addressed raised his head. He was a stout, strongly built
man, roughly dressed, but had a look which inspired confidence.

“I may as well tell you, boy,” he answered, “though you can’t help
me. I’ve been a cursed fool, that’s what’s the matter.”

“If you don’t mind telling me,” said Joe gently, “perhaps I can be
of service to you.”

The man shook his head.

“I don’t think you can,” he said, “but I’ll tell you, for all that.
Yesterday I came up from the mines with two thousand dollars. I was
about a year getting it together, and to me it was a fortune. I’m
a shoemaker by occupation, and lived in a town in Massachusetts,
where I have a wife and two young children. I left them a year ago
to go to the mines. I did well, and the money I told you about
would have made us all comfortable, if I could only have got it
home.”

“Were you robbed of it?” asked Joe, remembering his own experience.

“Yes; I was robbed of it, but not in the way you are thinking of. A
wily scoundrel induced me to enter a gambling-den, the Bella Union,
they call it. I wouldn’t play at first, but soon the fascination
seized me. I saw a man win a hundred dollars, and I thought I could
do the same, so I began, and won a little. Then I lost, and played
on to get my money back. In just an hour I was cleaned out of all
I had. Now I am penniless, and my poor family will suffer for my
folly.”

He buried his face in his hands once more and, strong man as he
was, he wept aloud.

“Have you had any supper, sir?” said Joe compassionately.

“No; but I have no appetite.”

“Have you any place to sleep?”

“No.”

“Then I can offer you a supper and a night’s lodging. Don’t be
discouraged. In the morning we can talk the matter over, and see
what can be done.”

The stranger rose and laid his hand on Joe’s arm.

“I don’t know how it is,” he said, “but your words give me courage.
I believe you have saved my life. I have a revolver left and I had
a mind to blow my brains out.”

“Would that have helped you or your family?”

“No, boy. I was a fool to think of it. I’ll accept your offer, and
to-morrow I’ll see what I can do. You’re the best friend I’ve met
since I left home.”




CHAPTER XIX

THE UNLUCKY MINER


Joe brought out some cold meat and bread and butter, and set it
before his guest.

“The fire’s gone out,” he said, “or I would give you some tea. Here
is a glass of milk, if you like it.”

“Thank you, boy,” said his visitor. “Milk is good enough for
anybody. One thing I can say, I’ve steered clear of liquor. A
brother of mine was intemperate and that was a warning to me. I
took credit to myself for being a steady-going man, compared with
many of my acquaintances out at the mines. But it don’t do to
boast. I’ve done worse, perhaps. I’ve gambled away the provision I
had made for my poor family.”

“Don’t take it too hard,” said Joe, in a tone of sympathy. “You
know how it is out here. Down to-day and up to-morrow.”

“It’ll take me a long time to get up to where I was,” said the
other; “but it’s my fault, and I must make the best of it.”

Joe observed, with satisfaction, that his visitor was doing ample
justice to the supper spread before him. With a full stomach, he
would be likely to take more cheerful views of life and the future.
In this thought Joe proved to be correct.

“I didn’t think I could eat anything,” said the miner, laying down
his knife and fork, twenty minutes later, “but I have made a hearty
supper, thanks to your kindness. Things look a little brighter to
me now. I’ve had a hard pullback, but all is not lost. I’ve got to
stay here a year or two longer, instead of going back by the next
steamer; but I must make up my mind to that. What is your name,
boy?”

“Joe Mason.”

“You’ve been kind to me, and I won’t forget it. It doesn’t seem
likely I can return the favor, but I’ll do it if ever I can. Good
night to you.”

“Where are you going?” asked Joe, surprised, as the miner walked to
the door.

“Out into the street.”

“But where do you mean to pass the night?”

“Where a man without money must--in the street.”

“But you mustn’t do that.”

“I shan’t mind it. I’ve slept out at the mines many a night.”

“But won’t you find it more comfortable here?”

“Yes; but I don’t want to intrude. You’ve given me a good supper
and that is all I can expect.”

“He doesn’t seem much like Hogan,” thought Joe.

“You are welcome to lodge here with me,” he said. “It will cost you
nothing and will be more comfortable for you.”

“You don’t know me, Joe,” said the miner. “How do you know but I
may get up in the night and rob you?”

“You could, but I don’t think you will,” said Joe. “I am not at all
afraid of it. You look like an honest man.”

The miner looked gratified.

“You shan’t repent your confidence, Joe,” he said.

“I’d rather starve than rob a good friend like you. But you mustn’t
trust everybody.”

“I don’t,” said Joe. “I refused a man to-night--a man named Hogan.”

“Hogan?”

“Yes.”

“What does he look like?”

Joe described him.

“It’s the very man,” said the miner.

“Do you know him, then?”

“Yes; he was out at our diggings. Nobody liked him, or trusted him.
He was too lazy to work, but just loafed around, complaining of his
luck. One night I caught him in my tent, just going to rob me. I
warned him to leave the camp next day or I’d report him, and the
boys would have strung him up. That’s the way they treat thieves
out there.”

“It doesn’t surprise me to hear it,” said Joe. “He robbed me of
fifty dollars in New York.”

“He did? How was that?”

Joe told the story.

“The mean skunk!” ejaculated Watson--for this Joe found to be the
miner’s name. “It’s mean enough to rob a man, but to cheat a poor
boy out of all he has is a good deal meaner. And yet you gave him
supper?”

“Yes. The man was hungry; I pitied him.”

“You’re a better Christian than I am. I’d have let him go hungry.”

Both Joe and the miner were weary and they soon retired, but not to
uninterrupted slumber. About midnight they were disturbed, as the
next chapter will show.




CHAPTER XX

HOGAN MEETS A CONGENIAL SPIRIT


When Hogan left Joe’s presence he was far from feeling as grateful
as he ought for the kindness with which our hero had treated him.
Instead of feeling thankful for the bountiful supper, he was angry
because Joe had not permitted him to remain through the night. Had
he obtained this favor, he would have resented the refusal to take
him into partnership. There are some men who are always soliciting
favors, and demanding them as a right, and Hogan was one of them.

Out in the street he paused a minute, undecided where to go. He had
no money, as he had truly said, or he would have been tempted to go
to a gambling-house, and risk it on a chance of making more.

“Curse that boy!” he muttered, as he sauntered along in the
direction of Telegraph Hill. “Who’d have thought a green country
clodhopper would have gone up as he has, while an experienced man
of the world like me is out at the elbows and without a cent!”

The more Hogan thought of this, the more indignant he became.

He thrust both hands into his pantaloons pockets, and strode
moodily on.

“I say it’s a cursed shame!” he muttered. “I never did have any
luck, that’s a fact. Just see how luck comes to some. With only a
dollar or two in his pocket, this Joe got trusted for a first-class
passage out here, while I had to come in the steerage. Then,
again, he meets some fool, who sets him up in business. Nobody
ever offered to set me up in business!” continued Hogan, feeling
aggrieved at Fortune for her partiality. “Nobody even offered to
give me a start in life. I have to work hard, and that’s all the
good it does.”

The fact was that Hogan had not done a whole day’s work for years.
But such men are very apt to deceive themselves and possibly he
imagined himself a hard-working man.

“It’s disgusting to see the airs that boy puts on,” he continued
to soliloquize. “It’s nothing but luck. He can’t help getting on,
with everybody to help him. Why didn’t he let me sleep in his place
to-night? It wouldn’t have cost him a cent.”

Then Hogan drifted off into calculations of how much money Joe was
making by his business. He knew the prices charged for meals and
that they afforded a large margin of profit.

The more he thought of it, the more impressed he was with the
extent of Joe’s luck.

“The boy must be making his fortune,” he said to himself. “Why, he
can’t help clearing from one to two hundred dollars a week--perhaps
more. It’s a money-making business, there’s no doubt of it. Why
couldn’t he take me in as partner? That would set me on my legs
again, and in time I’d be rich. I’d make him sell out, and get the
whole thing after awhile.”

So Hogan persuaded himself into the conviction that Joe ought to
have accepted him as partner, though why this should be, since his
only claim rested on his successful attempt to defraud him in New
York, it would be difficult to conjecture.

Sauntering slowly along, Hogan had reached the corner of Pacific
Street, then a dark and suspicious locality in the immediate
neighborhood of a number of low public houses of bad reputation.
The night was dark, for there was no moon.

Suddenly he felt himself seized in a tight grip, while a low, stern
voice in his ear demanded:

“Your money, and be quick about it!”

Hogan was not a brave man, but this demand, in his impecunious
condition, instead of terrifying him, struck his sense of humor as
an exceedingly good joke.

“You’ve got the wrong man!” he chuckled.

“Stop your fooling, and hand over your money, quickly!” was the
stern rejoinder.

“My dear friend,” said Hogan, “if you can find any money about me,
it’s more than I can do myself.”

“Are you on the square?” demanded the other suspiciously.

“Look at me, and see.”

The highwayman took him at his word. Lighting a match, he surveyed
his captive.

“You don’t look wealthy, that’s a fact,” he admitted. “Where are
you going?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t got any money, nor any place to sleep.”

“Then you’d better be leaving this place, or another mistake may be
made.”

“Stop!” said Hogan, with a sudden thought. “Though I haven’t any
money, I can tell you where we can both find some.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Come in here, then, and come to business.”

He led Hogan into a low shanty on Pacific Street, and, bidding him
be seated on a broken settee, waited for particulars.




CHAPTER XXI

READY FOR MISCHIEF


Though Hogan was a scamp in the superlative degree, the burly
ruffian who seated himself by his side looked the character much
better. He was not a man to beat about the bush. As he expressed
it, he wanted to come to business at once.

“What’s your game, pard?” he demanded. “Out with it.”

Hogan’s plan, as the reader has already surmised, was to break into
Joe’s restaurant and seize whatever money he might be found to have
on the premises. He recommended it earnestly, for two reasons.
First, a share of the money would be welcome; and, secondly,
he would be gratified to revenge himself upon the boy, whom he
disliked because he had injured him.

Jack Rafferty listened in silence.

“I don’t know about it,” he said. “There’s a risk.”

“I don’t see any risk. We two ought to be a match for a boy.”

“Of course we are. If we wasn’t I’d go hang myself up for a
milksop. Are you sure there’s no one else with him?”

“Not a soul.”

“That’s well, so far; but we might be seen from the outside.”

“We can keep watch.”

“Do you think the boy’s got much money about him?”

“Yes; he’s making money hand over fist. He’s one of those mean
chaps that never spend a cent, but lay it all by. Bah!”

So Hogan expressed his contempt for Joe’s frugality.

“All the better for us. How much might there be now, do you think?”

“Five hundred dollars, likely.”

“That’s worth risking something for,” said Jack thoughtfully.

“We’ll share alike?” inquired Hogan anxiously.

“Depends on how much you help about gettin’ the money,” said Jack
carelessly.

Hogan, who was not very courageous, did not dare push the matter
though he would have liked a more definite assurance. However,
he had another motive besides the love of money, and was glad to
have the cooperation of Rafferty, though secretly afraid of his
ruffianly accomplice.

It was agreed to wait till midnight. Till then both men threw
themselves down and slept.

As the clock indicated midnight, Rafferty shook Hogan roughly.

The latter sat up and gazed, in terrified bewilderment, at Jack,
who was leaning over him, forgetting for the moment the compact
into which he had entered.

“What do you want?” he ejaculated.

“It’s time we were about our business,” growled Jack.

“It’s struck twelve.”

“All right!” responded Hogan, who began to feel nervous, now that
the crisis was at hand.

“Don’t sit rubbing your eyes, man, but get up.”

“Haven’t you got a drop of something to brace me up?” asked Hogan
nervously.

“What are you scared of, pard?” asked Rafferty contemptuously.

“Nothing,” answered Hogan, “but I feel dry.”

“All right. A drop of something will warm us both up.”

Jack went behind the counter, and, selecting a bottle of rot-gut
whisky, poured out a stiff glassful apiece.

“Drink it, pard,” he said.

Hogan did so, nothing loath.

“That’s the right sort,” he said, smacking his lips. “It’s warming
to the stomach.”

So it was and a frequent indulgence in the vile liquid would
probably have burned his stomach and unfitted it for service. But
the momentary effect was stimulating, and inspired Hogan with a
kind of Dutch courage, which raised him in the opinion of his burly
confederate.

“Push ahead, pard,” said he. “I’m on hand.”

“That’s the way to talk,” said Rafferty approvingly. “If we’re
lucky, we’ll be richer before morning.”

Through the dark streets, unlighted and murky, the two confederates
made their stealthy way, and in five minutes stood in front of
Joe’s restaurant.




CHAPTER XXII

CHECKMATED


Everything looked favorable for their plans. Of course, the
restaurant was perfectly dark, and the street was quite deserted.

“How shall we get in?” asked Hogan of his more experienced
accomplice.

“No trouble--through the winder.”

Rafferty had served an apprenticeship at the burglar’s trade, and
was not long in opening the front window. He had no light and could
not see that Joe had a companion. If he had discovered this, he
would have been more cautious.

“Go in and get the money,” said he to Hogan.

He thought it possible that Hogan might object, but the latter had
a reason for consenting. He thought he might obtain for himself the
lion’s share of the plunder, while, as to risk, there would be no
one but Joe to cope with, and Hogan knew that in physical strength
he must be more than a match for a boy of sixteen.

“All right!” said Hogan. “You stay at the window and give the alarm
if we are seen.”

Rafferty was prompted by a suspicion of Hogan’s good faith in
the proposal he made to him. His ready compliance lulled this
suspicion, and led him to reflect that, perhaps, he could do the
work better himself.

“No,” said he. “I’ll go in and you keep watch at the winder.”

“I’m willing to go in,” said Hogan, fearing that he would not get
his fair share of the plunder.

“You stay where you are, pard!” said Rafferty, in a tone of
command. “I’ll manage this thing myself.”

“Just as you say,” said Hogan, slightly disappointed.

Rafferty clambered into the room, making as little noise as
possible. He stood still a moment, to accustom his eyes to the
darkness. His plan was to discover where Joe lay, wake him
up, and force him, by threats of instant death as the penalty
for non-compliance, to deliver up all the money he had in the
restaurant.

Now, it happened that Joe and his guest slept in opposite corners
of the room. Rafferty discovered Joe, but was entirely ignorant of
the presence of another person in the apartment.

Joe waked on being rudely shaken.

“Who is it?” he muttered drowsily.

“Never mind who it is!” growled Jack in his ear. “It’s a man
that’ll kill you if you don’t give up all the money you’ve got
about you!”

Joe was fully awake now, and realized the situation. He felt
thankful that he was not alone, and it instantly flashed upon him
that Watson had a revolver. But Watson was asleep. To obtain time
to form a plan, he parleyed a little.

“You want my money?” he asked, appearing to be confused.

“Yes--and at once! Refuse, and I will kill you!”

I won’t pretend to deny that Joe’s heart beat a little quicker than
its wont. He was thinking busily. How could he attract Watson’s
attention?

“It’s pretty hard, but I suppose I must,” he answered.

“That’s the way to talk.”

“Let me get up and I’ll get it.”

Joe spoke so naturally that Rafferty suspected nothing. He
permitted our hero to rise, supposing that he was going for the
money he demanded.

Joe knew exactly where Watson lay and went over to him. He knelt
down and drew out the revolver from beneath his head, at the
same time pushing him, in the hope of arousing him. The push was
effectual. Watson was a man whose experience at the mines had
taught him to rouse at once. He just heard Joe say:

“Hush!”

“What are you so long about?” demanded Rafferty suspiciously.

“I’ve got a revolver,” said Joe unexpectedly; “and, if you don’t
leave the room, I’ll fire!”

With an oath, Rafferty, who was no coward, sprang upon Joe, and it
would have gone hard with him but for Watson. The latter was now
broad awake. He seized Rafferty by the collar, and, dashing him
backward upon the floor, threw himself upon him.

“Two can play at that game!” said he. “Light the candle, Joe.”

“Help, pard!” called Rafferty.

But Hogan, on whom he called, suspecting how matters stood, was in
full flight.

The candle was lighted, and in the struggling ruffian Joe
recognized the man who, three months before, had robbed him of his
little all.




CHAPTER XXIII

NOT WHOLLY BLACK


“I know this man, Mr. Watson,” said Joe.

“Who is he?”

“He is the same man who robbed me of my money one night about three
months ago--the one I told you of.”

For the first time, Rafferty recognized Joe.

“There wasn’t enough to make a fuss about,” he said. “There was
only two dollars and a half.”

“It was all I had.”

“Let me up!” said Rafferty, renewing his struggles.

“Joe, have you got a rope?” asked Watson.

“Yes.”

“Bring it here, then. I can’t hold this man all night.”

“What are you going to do with me?” demanded Rafferty uneasily.

“Tie you hand and foot till to-morrow morning and then deliver you
over to the authorities.”

“No, you won’t!”

He made a renewed struggle, but Watson was a man with muscles of
iron, and the attempt was unsuccessful.

It was not without considerable difficulty, however, that the
midnight intruder was secured. When, at length, he was bound hand
and foot, Watson withdrew to a little distance. Joe and he looked
at Rafferty, and each felt that he had seldom seen a more brutal
face.

“Well,” growled Rafferty, “I hope you are satisfied?”

“Not yet,” returned Watson. “When you are delivered into the hands
of the authorities we shall be satisfied.”

“Oh, for an hour’s freedom!” muttered Jack Rafferty, expressing his
thoughts aloud.

“What use would you make of it?” asked Watson, in a tone of
curiosity.

“I’d kill the man that led me into this trap!”

Watson and Joe were surprised.

“Was there such a man. Didn’t you come here alone?”

“No; there was a man got me to come. Curse him, He told me I would
only find the boy here!”

“What has become of him?”

“He ran away, I reckon, instead of standing by me.”

“Where was he?”

“At the winder.”

“Could it have been Hogan?” thought Joe.

“I think I know the man,” said our hero. “I’ll describe the man I
mean and you can tell me if it was he.”

He described Hogan as well as he could.

“That’s the man,” said Rafferty. “I wouldn’t peach if he hadn’t
served me such a mean trick. What’s his name?”

“His name is Hogan. He came over on the same steamer with me,
after robbing me of fifty dollars in New York. He has been at the
mines, but didn’t make out well. This very afternoon I gave him
supper--all he could eat--and charged him nothing for it. He repays
me by planning a robbery.”

“He’s a mean skunk,” said Watson bluntly.

“You’re right, stranger,” said Rafferty. “I’m a scamp myself, but
I’ll be blowed if I’d turn on a man that fed me when I was hungry.”

The tones were gruff but the man was evidently sincere.

“You’re better than you look,” said Watson, surprised to hear such
a sentiment from a man of such ruffianly appearance.

Jack Rafferty laughed shortly.

“I ain’t used to compliments,” he said, “and I expect I’m bad
enough, but I ain’t all bad. I won’t turn on my pal, unless he does
it first, and I ain’t mean enough to rob a man that’s done me a
good turn.”

“No, you ain’t all bad,” said Watson. “It’s a pity you won’t make
up your mind to earn an honest living.”

“Too late for that, I reckon. What do you think they’ll do with me?”

In those days punishments were summary and severe. Watson knew it
and Joe had seen something of it. Our hero began to feel compassion
for the foiled burglar. He whispered in Watson’s ear. Watson
hesitated, but finally yielded.

“Stranger,” said he, “the boy wants me to let you go.”

“Does he?” inquired Rafferty, in surprise.

“Yes. He is afraid it will go hard with you if we give you up.”

“Likely it will,” muttered Rafferty, watching Watson’s face
eagerly, to see whether he favored Joe’s proposal.

“Suppose we let you go--will you promise not to make another
attempt upon this place?”

“What do you take me for? I’m not such a mean cuss as that.”

“One thing more--you won’t kill this man that brought you here?”

“If I knowed it wasn’t a trap he led me into. He told me there was
only the boy.”

“He thought so. I don’t belong here. The boy let me sleep here out
of kindness. Hogan knew nothing of this. I didn’t come till after
he had left.”

“That’s different,” said Rafferty; “but he shouldn’t have gone back
on me.”

“He is a coward, probably.”

“I guess you’re right,” said Rafferty contemptuously.

“You promise, then?”

“Not to kill him? Yes.”

“Then we’ll let you go.”

Watson unloosed the bonds that confined the prisoner. Rafferty
raised himself to his full height and stretched his limbs.

“There--I feel better,” he said. “You tied the rope pretty tight.”

“I found it necessary,” said Watson, laughing. “Now, Joe, if you
will open the door, this gentleman will pass out.”

Rafferty turned to Joe, as he was about to leave the restaurant.

“Boy,” said he, “I won’t forget this. I ain’t much of a friend to
boast of, but I’m your friend. You’ve saved me from prison, and
worse, it’s likely; and, if you need help any time, send for me. If
I had that money I took from you I’d pay it back.”

“I don’t need it,” said Joe. “I’ve been lucky, and am doing well. I
hope you’ll make up your mind to turn over a new leaf. If you do,
and are ever hard up for a meal, come to me, and you shall have it
without money and without price.”

“Thank you, boy,” said Rafferty. “I’ll remember it.”

He strode out of the restaurant, and disappeared in the darkness.

“Human nature’s a curious thing, Joe,” said Watson. “Who would have
expected to find any redeeming quality in such a man as that?”

“I would sooner trust him than Hogan.”

“So would I. Hogan is a mean scoundrel, who is not so much of a
ruffian as this man only because he is too much of a coward to be.”

“I am glad we let him go,” said Joe.

“I am not sure whether it was best, but I knew we should have to
be awake all night if we didn’t. He could have loosened the knots
after awhile. He won’t trouble you any more.”

“I wish I felt as sure about Hogan,” said Joe.

“Hogan is a coward. I advise you to keep a revolver constantly on
hand. He won’t dare to break in by himself.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The next morning, after breakfast, Watson prepared to go out in
search of work.

“I must begin at the bottom of the ladder once more,” he said to
Joe. “It’s my own fault, and I won’t complain. But what a fool I
have been! I might have gone home by the next steamer if I hadn’t
gambled away all my hard earnings.”

“What sort of work shall you try to get?”

“Anything--I have no right to be particular. Anything that will pay
my expenses and give me a chance to lay by something for my family
at home.”

“Mr. Watson,” said Joe suddenly, “I’ve been thinking of something
that may suit you. Since I came to San Francisco I have never gone
outside. I would like to go to the mines.”

“You wouldn’t make as much as you do here.”

“Perhaps not; but I have laid by some money and I would like to see
something of the country. Will you carry on the restaurant for me
for three months, if I give you your board and half of the profits?”

“Will I? I should think myself very lucky to get the chance.”

“Then you shall have the chance.”

“How do you know that I can be trusted?” asked Watson.

“I haven’t known you long,” said Joe, “but I feel confidence in
your honesty.”

“I don’t think you’ll repent your confidence. When do you want to
go?”

“I’ll stay here a few days, till you get used to the business, then
I will start.”

“I was lucky to fall in with you,” said Watson. “I didn’t want to
go back to the mines and tell the boys what a fool I have been. I
begin to think there’s a chance for me yet.”




CHAPTER XXIV

MR. BICKFORD, OF PUMPKIN HOLLOW


It may be thought that Joe was rash in deciding to leave his
business in the hands of a man whose acquaintance he had made but
twelve hours previous. But in the early history of California
friendships ripened fast. There was more confidence between man
and man, and I am assured that even now, though the State is more
settled and as far advanced in civilization and refinement as any
of her sister States on the Atlantic coast, the people are bound
together by more friendly ties, and exhibit less of cold caution
than at the East. At all events, Joe never dreamed of distrusting
his new acquaintance. A common peril, successfully overcome, had
doubtless something to do in strengthening the bond between them.

Joe went round to his friend Mr. Morgan and announced his intention.

“I don’t think you will make money by your new plan, Joe,” said
Morgan.

“I don’t expect to,” said Joe, “but I want to see the mines. If I
don’t succeed, I can come back to my business here.”

“That is true. I should like very well to go, too.”

“Why won’t you, Mr. Morgan?”

“I cannot leave my business as readily as you can. Do you feel
confidence in this man whom you are leaving in charge?”

“Yes, sir. He has been unlucky, but I am sure he is honest.”

“He will have considerable money belonging to you by the time you
return--that is, if you stay any length of time.”

“I want to speak to you about that, Mr. Morgan. I have directed him
to make a statement to you once a month, and put in your hands what
money comes to me--if it won’t trouble you too much.”

“Not at all, Joe. I shall be glad to be of service to you.”

“If you meet with any good investment for the money while I am
away, I should like to have you act for me as you would for
yourself.”

“All right, Joe.”

Joe learned from Watson that the latter had been mining on the
Yuba River, not far from the town of Marysville. He decided to go
there, although he might have found mines nearer the city. The next
question was, How should he get there, and should he go alone?

About this time a long, lank Yankee walked into the restaurant,
one day, and, seating himself at a table, began to inspect the
bill of fare which Joe used to write up every morning. He looked
disappointed.

“Don’t you find what you want?” inquired Joe.

“No,” said the visitor. “I say, this is a queer country. I’ve been
hankerin’ arter a good dish of baked beans for a week, and ain’t
found any.”

“We sometimes have them,” said Joe. “Come here at one o’clock, and
you shall be accommodated.”

The stranger brightened up.

“That’s the talk,” said he. “I’ll come.”

“Have you just come out here?” asked Joe curiously.

“A week ago.”

“Are you a Southerner?” asked Joe demurely.

“No, I guess not!” said the Yankee, with emphasis.

“I was raised in Pumpkin Hollow, State of Maine. I was twenty-one
last first of April, but I ain’t no April fool, I tell you. Dad and
me carried on the farm till I began to hear tell of Californy. I’d
got about three hundred dollars saved up and I took it to come out
here.”

“I suppose you’ve come out to make your fortune?”

“Yes, sir-ee, that’s just what I come for.”

“How have you succeeded so far?”

“I’ve succeeded in spendin’ all my money, except fifty dollars. I
say, it costs a sight to eat and drink out here. I can’t afford to
take but one meal a day, and then I eat like all possessed.”

“I should think you would, Mr.----”

“Joshua Bickford--that’s my name when I’m to hum.”

“Well, Mr. Bickford, what are your plans?”

“I want to go out to the mines and dig gold. I guess I can dig as
well as anybody. I’ve had experience in diggin’ ever since I was
ten year old.”

“Not digging gold, I suppose?”

“Diggin’ potatoes, and sich.”

“I’m going to the mines myself, Mr. Bickford. What do you say to
going along with me?”

“I’m on hand. You know the way, don’t you?”

“We can find it, I have no doubt. I have never been there, but my
friend Mr. Watson is an experienced miner.”

“How much gold did you dig?” asked Joshua bluntly.

“Two thousand dollars,” answered Watson, not thinking it necessary
to add that he had parted with the money since at the gaming-table.

“Two thousand dollars?” exclaimed Joshua, duly impressed. “That’s a
heap of money!”

“Yes; it’s a pretty good pile.”

“I’d like to get that much. I know what I’d do.”

“What would you do, Mr. Bickford?”

“I’d go home and marry Sukey Smith, by gosh!”

“Then I hope you’ll get the money, for Miss Smith’s sake.”

“There’s a feller hangin’ round her,” said Joshua, “kinder
slick-lookin’, with his hair parted in the middle; he tends in the
dry-goods store; but, if I come home with two thousand dollars,
she’ll have me, I guess. Why, with two thousand dollars I can buy
the farm next to dad’s, with a house with five rooms into it, and
a good-sized barn. I guess Sukey wouldn’t say no to me then, but
would change her name to Bickford mighty sudden.”

“I hope you will succeed in your plans, Mr. Bickford.”

“Seems to me you’re kinder young to be out here,” said Bickford,
turning his attention to Joe.

“Yes; I am not quite old enough to think of marrying.”

“Have you got money enough to get out to the mines?” asked Joshua
cautiously.

“I think I can raise enough,” said Joe, smiling.

“My young friend is the owner of this restaurant,” said Watson.

“You don’t say! I thought you hired him.”

“No. On the contrary, I am in his employ. I have agreed to run the
restaurant for him while he is at the mines.”

“You don’t say!” exclaimed Bickford, surveying our hero with
curiosity. “Have you made much money in this eating-house?”

“I’ve done pretty well,” said Joe modestly. “I own the building and
the two adjoining lots.”

“You don’t say! How old be you?”

“Sixteen.”

“You must be all-fired smart!”

“I don’t know about that, Mr. Bickford. I’ve been lucky and fallen
in with good friends.”

“Well, I guess Californy’s the place to make money. I ain’t made
any yet, but I mean to. There wasn’t no chance to get ahead in
Pumpkin Hollow. I was workin’ for eight dollars a month and board.”

“It would be a great while before you could save up money to buy a
farm out of that, Mr. Bickford.”

“That’s so.”

“My experience was something like yours. Before I came out here I
was working on a farm.”

“Sho!”

“And I didn’t begin to get as much money as you. I was bound out
to a farmer for my board and clothes. The board was fair but the
clothes were few and poor.”

“You don’t say!”

“I hope you will be as lucky as I have been.”

“How much are you worth now?” asked Joshua curiously.

“From one to two thousand dollars, I expect.”

“Sho! I never did! How long have you been out here?”

“Three months.”

“Je-rusalem! That’s better than stayin’ to hum.”

“I think so.”

By this time Mr. Bickford had completed his breakfast and in an
anxious tone he inquired:

“What’s the damage?”

“Oh, I won’t charge you anything, as you are going to be my
traveling companion,” said Joe.

“You’re a gentleman, by gosh!” exclaimed Mr. Bickford, in
unrestrained delight.

“Come in at one o’clock and you shall have some of your favorite
beans and nothing to pay. Can you start for the mines to-morrow?”

“Yes--I’ve got nothin’ to prepare.”

“Take your meals here till we go.”

“Well, I’m in luck,” said Bickford. “Victuals cost awful out here
and I haven’t had as much as I wanted to eat since I got here.”

“Consider yourself my guest,” said Joe, “and eat all you want to.”

It may be remarked that Mr. Bickford availed himself of our young
hero’s invitation, and during the next twenty-four hours stowed
away enough provisions to last an ordinary man for half a week.




CHAPTER XXV

THE MAN FROM PIKE COUNTY


Four days later Joe and his Yankee friend, mounted on mustangs,
were riding through a cañon a hundred miles from San Francisco. It
was late in the afternoon, and the tall trees shaded the path on
which they were traveling. The air was unusually chilly and after
the heat of midday they felt it.

“I don’t feel like campin’ out to-night,” said Bickford. “It’s too
cool.”

“I don’t think we shall find any hotels about here,” said Joe.

“Don’t look like it. I’d like to be back in Pumpkin Hollow just for
to-night. How fur is it to the mines, do you calc’late?”

“We are probably about half-way. We ought to reach the Yuba River
inside of a week.”

Here Mr. Bickford’s mustang deliberately stopped and began to
survey the scenery calmly.

“What do you mean, you pesky critter?” demanded Joshua.

The mustang turned his head and glanced composedly at the burden he
was carrying.

“G’lang!” said Joshua, and he brought down his whip on the flanks
of the animal.

It is not in mustang nature to submit to such an outrage without
expressing proper resentment. The animal threw up its hind legs,
lowering its head at the same time, and Joshua Bickford, describing
a sudden somersault, found himself sitting down on the ground a few
feet in front of his horse, not seriously injured, but considerably
bewildered.

“By gosh!” he ejaculated.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to dismount, Mr. Bickford?”
asked Joe, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

“Because I didn’t know it myself,” said Joshua, rising and rubbing
his jarred frame.

The mustang did not offer to run away, but stood calmly surveying
him as if it had had nothing to do with his rider’s sudden
dismounting.

“Darn the critter! He looks just as if nothing had happened,” said
Joshua. “He served me a mean trick.”

“It was a gentle hint that he was tired,” said Joe.

“Darn the beast! I don’t like his hints,” said Mr. Bickford.

He prepared to mount the animal, but the latter rose on its hind
legs and very clearly intimated that the proposal was not agreeable.

“What’s got into the critter?” said Joshua.

“He wants to rest. Suppose we rest here for half-an-hour, while we
loosen check-rein and let the horses graze.”

“Just as you say.”

Joshua’s steed appeared pleased with the success of his little hint
and lost no time in availing himself of the freedom accorded him.

“I wish I was safe at the mines,” said Joshua. “What would dad say
if he knowed where I was, right out here in the wilderness? It
looks as we might be the only human critters in the world. There
ain’t no house in sight, nor any signs of man’s ever bein’ here.”

“So we can fancy how Adam felt when he was set down in Paradise,”
said Joe.

“I guess he felt kinder lonely.”

“Probably he did, till Eve came. He had Eve, and I have you for
company.”

“I guess Eve wasn’t much like me,” said Joshua, with a grin.

He was lying at full length on the greensward, looking awkward and
ungainly enough, but his countenance, homely as it was, looked
honest and trustworthy, and Joe preferred his company to that of
many possessed of more outward polish. He could not help smiling at
Mr. Bickford’s remark.

“Probably Eve was not as robust as you are,” he replied, “I doubt
if she were as tall, either. But as to loneliness, it is better to
be lonely than to have some company.”

“There ain’t no suspicious characters round, are there?” inquired
Joshua anxiously.

“We are liable to meet them--men who have been unsuccessful at the
mines and who have become desperate in consequence, and others who
came out here to prey upon others. That’s what I hear.”

“Do you think we shall meet any of the critters?” asked Joshua.

“I hope not. They wouldn’t find it very profitable to attack us. We
haven’t much money.”

“I haven’t,” said Joshua. “I couldn’t have got to the mines if you
hadn’t lent me a few dollars.”

“You have your animal. You can sell him for something.”

“If he agrees to carry me so far,” said Mr. Bickford, gazing
doubtfully at the mustang, who was evidently enjoying his evening
repast.

“Oh, a hearty meal will make him good-natured. That is the way it
acts with boys and men, and animals are not so very different.”

“I guess you’re right,” said Joshua. “When I wanted to get a favor
out of dad, I always used to wait till the old man had got his
belly full. That made him kinder good-natured.”

“I see you understand human nature, Mr. Bickford,” said Joe.

“I guess I do,” said Joshua complacently. “Great Jehoshaphat, who’s
that?”

Joe raised his head and saw riding toward them a man who might have
sat for the photograph of a bandit without any alteration in his
countenance or apparel. He wore a red flannel shirt, pants of rough
cloth, a Mexican sombrero, had a bowie-knife stuck in his girdle,
and displayed a revolver rather ostentatiously. His hair, which he
wore long, was coarse and black, and he had a fierce mustache.

“Is he a robber?” asked Joshua uneasily.

“Even if he is,” said Joe, “we are two to one. I dare say he’s all
right, but keep your weapon ready.”

Though Joe was but a boy and Bickford a full-grown man, from
the outset he had assumed the command of the party, and issued
directions which his older companion followed implicitly. The
explanation is that Joe had a mind of his own, and decided promptly
what was best to be done, while his long-limbed associate was
duller witted and undecided.

Joe and Joshua maintained their sitting position till the stranger
was within a rod or two, when he hailed them.

“How are ye, strangers?” he said.

“Pretty comfortable,” said Joshua, reassured by his words. “How
fare you?”

“You’re a Yank, ain’t you?” said the newcomer, disregarding
Joshua’s question.

“I reckon so. Where might you hail from?”

“I’m from Pike County, Missouri,” was the answer. “You’ve heard of
Pike, hain’t you?”

“I don’t know as I have,” said Mr. Bickford.

The stranger frowned.

“You must have been born in the woods not to have heard of Pike
County,” he said. “The smartest fighters come from Pike. I kin whip
my weight in wildcats, am a match for a dozen Indians to onst, and
can tackle a lion without flinchin’.”

“Sho!” said Joshua, considerably impressed.

“Won’t you stop and rest with us?” said Joe politely.

“I reckon I will,” said the Pike man, getting off his beast. “You
don’t happen to have a bottle of whisky with you, strangers?”

“No,” said Joe.

The newcomer looked disappointed.

“I wish you had,” said he. “I feel as dry as a tinder-box. Where
might you be travelin’?”

“We are bound for the mines on the Yuba River.”

“That’s a long way off.”

“Yes, it’s four or five days’ ride.”

“I’ve been there, and I don’t like it. It’s too hard work for a
gentleman.”

This was uttered in such a magnificent tone of disdain that Joe was
rather amused at the fellow. In his red shirt and coarse breeches,
and brown, not overclean skin, he certainly didn’t look much like a
gentleman in the conventional sense of that term.

“It’s all well enough to be a gentleman if you’ve got money to fall
back on,” remarked Joshua sensibly.

“Is that personal?” demanded the Pike County man, frowning and half
rising.

“It’s personal to me,” said Joshua quietly.

“I accept the apology,” said the newcomer, sinking back upon the
turf.

“I hain’t apologized, as I’m aware,” said Joshua, who was no craven.

“You’d better not rile me, stranger,” said the Pike man fiercely.
“You don’t know me, you don’t. I’m a rip-tail roarer, I am. I
always kill a man who insults me.”

“So do we,” said Joe quietly.

The Pike County man looked at Joe in some surprise. He had expected
to frighten the boy with his bluster, but it didn’t seem to produce
the effect intended.




CHAPTER XXVI

A DESPERADO


Mr. Bickford also seemed a little surprised at Joe’s coolness.
Though not a coward in the face of danger, he had been somewhat
impressed by the fierce aspect of the man from Pike County, and
really looked upon him as a reckless daredevil who was afraid of
nothing. Joe judged him more truly. He decided that a man who
boasted so loudly was a sham. If he had talked less, he would have
feared him more.

After his last bloodthirsty declaration the man from Pike County
temporarily subsided.

He drew out from his pocket a greasy pack of cards, and after
skilfully shuffling them inquired:

“What do you say, strangers, to a little game to pass away the
time?”

“I never played keards in my life,” said Joshua Bickford.

“Where was you raised?” demanded the Pike man contemptuously.

“Pumpkin Hollow, State o’ Maine,” said Joshua. “Dad’s an orthodox
deacon. He never let any of us play keards. I don’t know one from
t’other.”

“I’ll learn you,” said the Pike man condescendingly. “Suppose we
have a game of poker?”

“Ain’t that a gambling’ game?” inquired Joshua.

“We always play for something,” said the Pike man. “It’s dern
foolishness playin’ for nothing. Shall we have a game?”

He looked at Joe as he spoke.

“I don’t care to play,” said our hero. “I don’t know much about
cards, and I don’t want to play for money.”

“That’s dern foolishness,” said the stranger, whose object it was
to clean out his new friends, being an expert gambler.

“Perhaps it is,” said Joe, “but I only speak for myself. Mr.
Bickford may feel differently.”

“Will you take a hand, Bickford?” asked the Pike man, thinking
it possible that Joshua might have some money of which he could
relieve him.

“You kin show me how to play if you want to,” said Joshua, “but I
won’t gamble any.”

The Pike man put up his pack of cards in disgust.

“Derned if I ever met sich fellers!” he said. “You’re Methodists,
ain’t you?”

“We generally decline doing what we don’t want to do,” said Joe.

“Look here, boy,” blustered the Pike man, “I reckon you don’t know
me. I’m from Pike County, Missouri, I am. I’m a rip-tail roarer, I
am. I kin whip my weight in wildcats.”

“You told us that afore,” said Joshua placidly.

“Derned if I don’t mean it, too!” exclaimed the Pike County man,
with a fierce frown. “Do you know how I served a man last week?”

“No. Tell us, won’t you?” said Joshua.

“We was ridin’ together over in Alameda County. We’d met
permiscuous, like we’ve met to-day. I was tellin’ him how four
b’ars attacked me once, and I fit ’em all single-handed, when he
laughed, and said he reckoned I’d been drinkin’ and saw double. If
he’d knowed me better, he wouldn’t have done it.”

“What did you do?” asked Joshua, interested.

Joe, who was satisfied that the fellow was romancing, did not
exhibit any interest.

“What did I do?” echoed the Pike County man fiercely. “I told him
he didn’t know the man he insulted. I told him I was from Pike
County, Missouri, and that I was a rip-tail roarer.”

“And could whip your weight in wildcats,” suggested Joe.

The Pike man appeared irritated.

“Don’t interrupt me, boy,” he said. “It ain’t healthy.”

“After you’d made them remarks what did you do?” inquired Joshua.

“I told him he’d insulted me and must fight. I always do that.”

“Did he fight?”

“He had to.”

“How did it come out?”

“I shot him through the heart,” said the man from Pike County
fiercely. “His bones are bleaching in the valley where he fell.”

“Sho!” said Joshua.

The Pike County man looked from one to the other to see what effect
had been produced by his blood-curdling narration. Joshua looked
rather perplexed, as if he didn’t quite know what to think, but Joe
seemed tranquil.

“I think you said it happened last week,” said Joe.

“If I said so, it is so,” said the Pike man, who in truth did not
remember what time he had mentioned.

“I don’t question that. I was only wondering how his bones could
begin to bleach so soon after he was killed.”

“Just so,” said Joshua, to whom this difficulty had not presented
itself before.

“Do you doubt my word, stranger?” exclaimed the Pike man, putting
his hand to his side and fingering his knife.

“Not at all,” said Joe. “But I wanted to understand how it was.”

“I don’t give no explanations,” said the Pike man haughtily, “and I
allow no man to doubt my word.”

“Look here, my friend,” said Joshua, “ain’t you rather
cantankerous?”

“What’s that?” demanded the other suspiciously.

“No offense,” said Joshua, “but you take a feller up so we don’t
know exactly how to talk to you.”

“I take no insults,” said the Pike man. “Insults must be washed out
in blood.”

“Soap-suds is better than blood for washin’ purposes,” said Joshua
practically. “Seems to me you’re spoilin’ for a fight all the time.”

“I allow I am,” said the Pike man, who regarded this as a
compliment. “I was brought up on fightin’. When I was a boy I could
whip any boy in school.”

“That’s why they called you a rip-tail roarer, I guess,” said
Joshua.

“You’re right, stranger,” said the Pike man complacently.

“What did you do when the teacher give you a lickin’?” asked Mr.
Bickford.

“What did I do?” yelled the Pike County man, with a demoniac frown.

“Exactly so.”

“I shot him!” said the Pike man briefly.

“Sho! How many teachers did you shoot when you was a boy?”

“Only one. The rest heard of it and never dared touch me.”

“So you could play hookey and cut up all you wanted to?”

“You’re right, stranger.”

“They didn’t manage that way at Pumpkin Hollow,” said Mr. Bickford.
“Boys ain’t quite so handy with shootin’-irons. When the master
flogged us we had to stand it.”

“Were you afraid of him?” asked the Pike man disdainfully.

“Well, I was,” Joshua admitted. “He was a big man with arms just
like flails, and the way he used to pound us was a caution.”

“I’d have shot him in his tracks,” said the Pike man fiercely.

“You’d have got a wallopin’ fust, I reckon,” said Joshua.

“Do you mean to insult me?” demanded the Pike man.

“Oh, lay down, and don’t be so cantankerous,” said Joshua. “You’re
allus thinkin’ of bein’ insulted.”

“We may as well be going,” said Joe, who was thoroughly disgusted
with their new companion.

“Just as you say, Joe,” said Joshua. “Here, you pesky critter, come
and let me mount you.”

The mustang realized Joe’s prediction. After his hearty supper he
seemed to be quite tractable and permitted Mr. Bickford to mount
him without opposition.

Joe also mounted his horse.

“I’ll ride along with you if you’ve no objections,” said the Pike
man. “We kin camp together to-night.”

So saying, he too mounted the sorry-looking steed which he had
recently dismounted.

Joe was not hypocrite enough to say that he was welcome. He thought
it best to be candid.

“If you are quite convinced that neither of us wishes to insult
you,” he said quietly, “you can join us. If you are bent on
quarreling, you had better ride on by yourself.”

The Pike man frowned fiercely.

“Boy,” he said, “I have shot a man for less than that.”

“I carry a revolver,” said Joe quietly, “but I shan’t use it unless
it is necessary. If you are so easily offended, you’d better ride
on alone.”

This the Pike man did not care to do.

“You’re a strange boy,” he said, “but I reckon you’re on the
square. I’ll go along with you.”

“I would rather you’d leave us,” thought Joe, but he merely said:
“Very well.”




CHAPTER XXVII

TWO TRAGIC STORIES


They rode on for about an hour and a half. Joshua’s steed, placated
by his good supper, behaved very well. Their ride was still through
the cañon. Presently it became too dark for them to proceed.

“Ain’t we gone about fur enough for to-night?” asked Joshua.

“Perhaps we have,” answered Joe.

“Here’s a good place to camp,” suggested the man from Pike County,
pointing to a small grove of trees to the right.

“Very well; let us dismount,” said Joe. “I think we can pass the
night comfortably.”

They dismounted, and tied their beasts together under one of the
trees. They then threw themselves down on a patch of greensward
near-by.

“I’m gettin’ hungry,” said Joshua. “Ain’t you, Joe?”

“Yes, Mr. Bickford. We may as well take supper.”

Mr. Bickford produced a supper of cold, meat and bread, and placed
it between Joe and himself.

“Won’t you share our supper?” said Joe to their companion.

“Thank ye, stranger, I don’t mind if I do,” answered the Pike man,
with considerable alacrity. “My fodder give out this mornin’, and I
hain’t found any place to stock up.”

He displayed such an appetite that Mr. Bickford regarded him with
anxiety. They had no more than sufficient for themselves, and the
prospect of such a boarder was truly alarming.

“You have a healthy appetite, my friend,” he said.

“I generally have,” said the Pike man. “You’d orter have some
whisky, strangers, to wash it down with.”

“I’d rather have a good cup of coffee sweetened with ’lasses, sech
as marm makes to hum,” remarked Mr. Bickford.

“Coffee is for children, whisky for strong men,” said the Roarer.

“I prefer the coffee,” said Joe.

“Are you temperance fellers?” inquired the Pike man contemptuously.

“I am,” said Joe.

“And I, too,” said Joshua.

“Bah!” said the other disdainfully; “I’d as soon drink skim-milk.
Good whisky or brandy for me.”

“I wish we was to your restaurant, Joe,” said Joshua. “I kinder
hanker after some good baked beans. Baked beans and brown bread are
scrumptious. Ever eat ’em, stranger?”

“No,” said the Pike man; “none of your Yankee truck for me.”

“I guess you don’t know what’s good,” said Mr. Bickford. “What’s
your favorite vittles?”

“Bacon and hominy, hoe-cakes and whisky.”

“Well,” said Joshua, “it depends on the way a feller is brung
up. I go for baked beans and brown bread, and punkin pie--that’s
goloptious. Ever eat punkin pie, stranger?”

“Yes.”

“Like it?”

“I don’t lay much on it.”

Supper was over and other subjects succeeded. The Pike County man
became social.

“Strangers,” said he, “did you ever hear of the affair I had with
Jack Scott?”

“No,” said Joshua. “Spin it off, will you?”

“Jack and me used to be a heap together. We went huntin’ together,
camped out for weeks together, and was like two brothers. One day
we was ridin’ out, when a deer started up fifty rods ahead. We both
raised our guns and shot at him. There was only one bullet into
him, and I knowed that was mine.”

“How did you know it?” inquired Joshua.

“Don’t you get curious, stranger. I knowed it, and that was enough.
But Jack said it was his. ‘It’s my deer,’ he said, ‘for you missed
your shot.’ ‘Look here, Jack,’ said I, ‘you’re mistaken. You missed
it. Don’t you think I know my own bullet?’ ‘No, I don’t,’ said
he. ‘Jack,’ said I calmly, ‘don’t talk that way. It’s dangerous.’
‘Do you think I’m afraid of you?’ he said, turning on me. ‘Jack,’
said I, ‘don’t provoke me. I can whip my weight in wildcats.’ ‘You
can’t whip me,’ said he. That was too much for me to stand. I’m
the Rip-tail Roarer from Pike County, Missouri, and no man can
insult me and live. ‘Jack,’ said I, ‘we’ve been friends, but you’ve
insulted me, and it must be washed out in blood.’ Then I up with my
we’pon and shot him through the head.”

“Sho!” said Joshua.

“I was sorry to do it, for he was my friend,” said the Pike County
man, “but he disputed my word, and the man that does that may as
well make his will if he’s got any property to leave.”

Here the speaker looked to see what effect was produced upon his
listeners. Joe seemed indifferent. He saw through the fellow, and
did not credit a word he said. Joshua had been more credulous at
first, but he, too, began to understand the man from Pike County.
The idea occurred to him to pay him back in his own coin.

“Didn’t the relatives make any fuss about it?” he inquired. “Didn’t
they arrest you for murder?”

“They didn’t dare to,” said the Pike man proudly. “They knew me.
They knew I could whip my weight in wildcats and wouldn’t let no
man insult me.”

“Did you leave the corpse lyin’ out under the trees?” asked Joshua.

“I rode over to Jack’s brother and told him what I had done, and
where he’d find the body. He went and buried it.”

“What about the deer?”

“What deer?”

“The deer you killed and your friend claimed?”

“Oh,” said the Pike man, with sudden recollection, “I told Jack’s
brother he might have it.”

“Now, that was kinder handsome, considerin’ you’d killed your
friend on account of it.”

“There ain’t nothin’ mean about me,” said the man from Pike County.

“I see there ain’t,” said Mr. Bickford dryly. “It reminds me of
a little incident in my own life. I’ll tell you about it, if you
hain’t any objection.”

“Go ahead. It’s your deal.”

“You see, the summer I was eighteen, my cousin worked for dad
hayin’ time. He was a little older’n me, and he had a powerful
appetite, Bill had. If it wasn’t for that, he’d ’a’ been a nice
feller enough, but at the table he always wanted more than his
share of wittles. Now, that ain’t fair, no ways--think it is,
stranger?”

“No! Go ahead with your story.”

“One day we sat down to dinner. Marm had made some apple-dumplin’
that day, and ’twas good, you bet. Well, I see Bill a-eyin’ the
dumplin’ as he shoveled in the meat and pertaters, and I knowed he
meant to get more’n his share. Now, I’m fond of dumplin’ as well as
Bill, and I didn’t like it. Well, we was both helped and went to
eatin’. When I was half through I got up to pour out some water.
When I cum back to the table Bill had put away his plate, which he
had cleaned off, and was eatin’ my dumplin’.”

“What did you say?” inquired the gentleman from Pike, interested.

“I said: ‘Bill, you’re my cousin, but you’ve gone too fur.’ He
laffed, and we went into the field together to mow. He was just
startin’ on his swath when I cum behind him and cut his head clean
off with my scythe.”

Joe had difficulty in suppressing his laughter, but Mr. Bickford
looked perfectly serious.

“Why, that was butchery!” exclaimed the Pike man, startled. “Cut
off his head with a scythe?”

“I hated to, bein’ as he was my cousin,” said Joshua, “but I
couldn’t have him cum any of them tricks on me. I don’t see as it’s
any wuss than shootin’ a man.”

“What did you do with his body?” asked Joe, commanding his voice.

“Bein’ as ’twas warm weather, I thought I’d better bury him at
once.”

“Were you arrested?”

“Yes, and tried for murder, but my lawyer proved that I was crazy
when I did it, and so I got off.”

“Do such things often happen at the North?” asked the Pike County
man.

“Not so often as out here and down South, I guess,” said Joshua.
“It’s harder to get off. Sometimes a man gets hanged up North for
handlin’ his gun too careless.”

“Did you ever kill anybody else?” asked the Pike man, eying Joshua
rather uneasily.

“No,” said Mr. Bickford. “I shot one man in the leg and another in
the arm, but that warn’t anything serious.”

It was hard to disbelieve Joshua, he spoke with such apparent
frankness and sincerity. The man from Pike County was evidently
puzzled, and told no more stories of his own prowess. Conversation,
died away, and presently all three were asleep.




CHAPTER XXVIII

THE EVENTS OF A NIGHT


The Pike County man was the first to fall asleep. Joe and Mr.
Bickford lay about a rod distant from him. When their new comrade’s
regular breathing, assured Joe that he was asleep, he said:

“Mr. Bickford, what do you think of this man who has joined us?”

“I think he’s the biggest liar I ever set eyes on,” said Joshua
bluntly.

“Then you don’t believe his stories?”

“No--do you?”

“I believe them as much as that yarn of yours about your Cousin
Bill,” returned Joe, laughing.

“I wanted to give him as good as he sent. I didn’t want him to do
all the lyin’.”

“And you a deacon’s son!” exclaimed Joe, in comic expostulation.

“I don’t know what the old man would have said if he’d heard me, or
Cousin Bill, either.”

“Then one part is true--you have a Cousin Bill?”

“That isn’t the only part that’s true; he did help me and dad
hayin’.”

“But his head is still safe on his shoulders?”

“I hope so.”

“I don’t think we can find as much truth in the story of our friend
over yonder.”

“Nor I. If there was a prize offered for tall lyin’ I guess he’d
stand a good chance to get it.”

“Do you know, Joshua, fire-eater as he is, I suspect that he is a
coward.”

“You do?”

“Yes, and I have a mind to put him to the test.”

“How will you do it?”

“One day an old hunter came into my restaurant, and kept coming for
a week. He was once taken prisoner by the Indians, and remained in
their hands for three months. He taught me the Indian war-whoop,
and out of curiosity I practised it till I can do it pretty well.”

“What’s your plan?”

“To have you fire off your gun so as to wake him up. Then I will
give a loud war-whoop and see how it affects the gentleman from
Pike County.”

“He may shoot us before he finds out the deception.”

“It will be well first to remove his revolver to make all safe.
I wish you could give the war-whoop, too. It would make a louder
noise.”

“How do you do it?”

Joe explained.

“I guess I can do it. You start it, and I’ll j’in in, just as I
used to do in singin’ at meetin’. I never could steer through a
tune straight by myself, but when the choir got to goin’, I helped
’em all I could.”

“I guess you can do it. Now let us make ready.”

The Pike County man’s revolver was removed while he was
unconsciously sleeping. Then Joshua and our hero ensconced
themselves behind trees, and the Yankee fired his gun.

The Pike man started up, still half asleep and wholly bewildered,
when within a rod of him he heard the dreadful war-whoop. Then
another more discordant voice took up the fearful cry. Joshua did
very well considering that it was his first attempt.

Then the man from Pike County sprang to his feet. If it had been
daylight, his face would have been seen to wear a pale and scared
expression. It did not appear to occur to him to make a stand
against the savage foes who he felt convinced were near at hand.
He stood not on the order of going, but went at once. He quickly
unloosed his beast, sprang upon his back, and galloped away without
apparently giving a thought to the companions with whom he had
camped out.

When he was out of hearing Joe and Bickford shouted with laughter.

“You see I was right,” said Joe. “The man’s a coward.”

“He seemed in a hurry to get away,” said Joshua dryly. “He’s the
biggest humbug out.”

“I thought so as soon as he began to brag so much.”

“I believed his yarns at first,” admitted Joshua. “I thought he was
rather a dangerous fellow to travel with.”

“He looked like a desperado, certainly,” said Joe, “but appearances
are deceitful. It’s all swagger and no real courage.”

“Well, what shall we do now, Joe?”

“Lie down again and go to sleep.”

“The man’s gone off without his revolver.”

“He’ll be back for it within a day or two. We shall be sure to fall
in with him again. I shan’t lose my sleep worrying about him.”

The two threw themselves once more on the ground, and were soon
fast asleep.

       *       *       *       *       *

Joe proved to be correct in his prediction concerning the
reappearance of their terrified companion.

The next morning, when they were sitting at breakfast--that is,
sitting under a tree with their repast spread out on a paper
between them--the man from Pike County rode up. He looked haggard,
as well he might, not having ventured to sleep for fear of the
Indians, and his horse seemed weary and dragged out.

“Where have you been?” asked Mr. Bickford innocently.

“Chasin’ the Indians,” said the Rip-tail Roarer, swinging himself
from his saddle.

“Sho! Be there any Indians about here?”

“Didn’t you hear them last night?” inquired the man from Pike.

“No.”

“Nor you?” turning to Joe.

“I heard nothing of any Indians,” replied Joe truthfully.

“Then all I can say is, strangers, that you sleep uncommon sound.”

“Nothing wakes me up,” said Bickford. “What about them Indians? Did
you railly see any?”

“I rather think I did,” said the man from Pike. “It couldn’t have
been much after midnight when I was aroused by their war-whoop.
Starting up, I saw twenty of the red devils riding through the
cañon.”

“Were you afraid?”

“Afraid!” exclaimed the man from Pike contemptuously. “The Rip-tail
Roarer knows not fear. I can whip my weight in wildcats----”

“Yes, I know you can,” interrupted Joshua. “You told us so
yesterday.”

The man from Pike seemed rather annoyed at the interruption, but as
Mr. Bickford appeared to credit his statement he had no excuse for
quarreling.

He proceeded.

“Instantly I sprung to the back of my steed and gave them chase.”

“Did they see you?”

“They did.”

“Why didn’t they turn upon you? You said there were twenty of them.”

“Why?” repeated the Pike man boastfully. “They were afraid. They
recognized me as the Rip-tail Roarer. They knew that I had sent
more than fifty Indians to the happy hunting-grounds, and alone as
I was they fled.”

“Sho!”

“Did you kill any of them?” asked Joe.

“When I was some distance on my way I found I had left my revolver
behind. Did you find it, stranger?”

“There it is,” said Joshua, who had replaced it on the ground close
to where the Pike man had slept.

He took it with satisfaction and replaced it in his girdle.

“Then you didn’t kill any?”

“No, but I drove them away. They won’t trouble you any more.”

“That’s a comfort,” said Joshua.

“Now, strangers, if you’ve got any breakfast to spare, I think I
could eat some.”

“Set up, old man,” said Mr. Bickford, with his mouth full.

The man from Pike did full justice to the meal. Then he asked his
two companions, as a favor, not to start for two hours, during
which he lay down and rested.

The three kept together that day, but did not accomplish as much
distance as usual, chiefly because of the condition of their
companion’s horse.

At night they camped out again. In the morning an unpleasant
surprise awaited them. Their companion had disappeared, taking with
him Joshua’s horse and leaving instead his own sorry nag. That was
not all. He had carried off their bag of provisions, and morning
found them destitute of food, with a hearty appetite and many miles
away, as they judged, from any settlement.

“The mean skunk!” said Joshua. “He’s cleaned us out. What shall we
do?”

“I don’t know,” said Joe seriously.




CHAPTER XXIX

JOHN CHINAMAN


The two friends felt themselves to be in a serious strait. The
exchange of horses was annoying, but it would only lengthen their
journey a little. The loss of their whole stock of provisions could
not so readily be made up.

“I feel holler,” said Joshua. “I never could do much before
breakfast. I wish I’d eat more supper. I would have done it, only
I was afraid, by the way that skunk pitched into ’em, we wouldn’t
have enough to last.”

“You only saved them for him, it seems,” said Joe. “He has
certainly made a poor return for our kindness.”

“If I could only wring his neck, I wouldn’t feel quite so hungry,”
said Joshua.

“Or cut his head off with a scythe,” suggested Joe, smiling faintly.

“Danged if I wouldn’t do it,” said Mr. Bickford, hunger making him
bloodthirsty.

“We may overtake him, Mr. Bickford.”

“You may, Joe, but I can’t. He’s left me his horse, which is clean
tuckered out, and never was any great shakes to begin with. I don’t
believe I can get ten miles out of him from now till sunset.”

“We must keep together, no matter how slow we go. It won’t do for
us to be parted.”

“We shall starve together likely enough,” said Joshua mournfully.

“I’ve heard that the French eat horse-flesh. If it comes to the
worst, we can kill your horse and try a horse-steak.”

“It’s all he’s fit for, and he ain’t fit for that. We’ll move
on for a couple of hours and see if somethin’ won’t turn up. I
tell you, Joe, I’d give all the money I’ve got for some of marm’s
johnny-cakes. It makes me feel hungrier whenever I think of ’em.”

“I sympathize with you, Joshua,” said Joe. “We may as well be
movin’ on, as you suggest. We may come to some cabin, or party of
travelers.”

So they mounted their beasts and started. Joe went ahead, for
his animal was much better than the sorry nag which Mr. Bickford
bestrode. The latter walked along with an air of dejection, as if
life were a burden to him.

“If I had this critter at home, Joe, I’ll tell you what I’d do with
him,” said Mr. Bickford, after a pause.

“Well, what would you do with him?”

“I’d sell him to a sexton. He’d be a first-class animal to go to
funerals. No danger of his runnin’ away with the hearse.”

“You are not so hungry but you can joke, Joshua.”

“It’s no joke,” returned Mr. Bickford. “If we don’t raise a supply
of provisions soon, I shall have to attend my own funeral. My mind
keeps running on them johnny-cakes.”

They rode on rather soberly, for the exercise and the fresh morning
air increased their appetites, which were keen when they started.

Mr. Bickford no longer felt like joking, and Joe at every step
looked anxiously around him, in the hope of espying relief.

On a sudden, Mr. Bickford rose in his stirrups and exclaimed in a
tone of excitement:

“I see a cabin!”

“Where?”

“Yonder,” said the Yankee, pointing to a one-story shanty, perhaps
a quarter of a mile away.

“Is it inhabited, I wonder?”

“I don’t know. Let us go and see.”

The two spurred their horses, and at length reached the rude
building which had inspired them with hope. The door was open, but
no one was visible.

Joshua was off his horse in a twinkling and peered in.

“Hooray!” he shouted in rejoicing accents. “Breakfast’s ready.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’ve found something to eat.”

On a rude table was an earthen platter full of boiled rice and a
stale loaf beside it.

“Pitch in, Joe,” said Joshua. “I’m as hungry as a wolf.”

“This food belongs to somebody. I suppose we have no right to it.”

“Right be hanged. A starving man has a right to eat whatever he can
find.”

“Suppose it belongs to a fire-eater, or a man from Pike County?”

“We’ll eat first and fight afterward.”

Joe did not feel like arguing the matter. There was an advocate
within him which forcibly emphasized Joshua’s arguments, and he
joined in the banquet.

“This bread is dry as a chip,” said Mr. Bickford. “But no matter. I
never thought dry bread would taste so good. I always thought rice
was mean vittles, but it goes to the right place just now.”

“I wonder if any one will have to go hungry on our account?” said
Joe.

“I hope not, but I can’t help it,” returned Mr. Bickford.
“Necessity’s the fust law of nature, Joe. I feel twice as strong as
I did twenty minutes ago.”

“There’s nothing like a full stomach, Joshua. I wonder to whom we
are indebted for this repast?”

Joe was not long in having his query answered. An exclamation, as
of one startled, called the attention of the two friends to the
doorway, where, with a terrified face, stood a Chinaman, his broad
face indicating alarm.

“It’s a heathen Chinee, by gosh!” exclaimed Joshua.

Even at that time Chinese immigrants had begun to arrive in San
Francisco, and the sight was not wholly new either to Joshua or Joe.

“Good morning, John,” said our young hero pleasantly.

“Good morning, heathen,” said Mr. Bickford. “We thought we’d come
round and make you a mornin’ call. Is your family well?”

The Chinaman was reassured by the friendly tone of his visitors,
and ventured to step in. He at once saw that the food which he had
prepared for himself had disappeared.

“Melican man eat John’s dinner,” he remarked in a tone of
disappointment.

“So we have, John,” said Mr. Bickford. “The fact is, we were
hungry--hadn’t had any breakfast.”

“Suppose Melican man eat--he pay,” said the Chinaman.

“That’s all right,” said Joe; “we are willing to pay. How much do
you want?”

The Chinaman named his price, which was not unreasonable, and it
was cheerfully paid.

“Have you got some more bread and rice, John?” asked Mr. Bickford.
“We’d like to buy some and take it along.”

They succeeded in purchasing a small supply--enough with economy to
last a day or two. This was felt as a decided relief. In two days
they might fall in with another party of miners or come across a
settlement.

They ascertained on inquiry that the Chinaman and another of his
nationality had come out like themselves to search for gold. They
had a claim at a short distance from which they had obtained a
small supply of gold. The cabin they had found in its present
condition. It had been erected and deserted the previous year by a
party of white miners, who were not so easily satisfied as the two
Chinamen.

“Well,” said Joshua, after they had started on their way, “that’s
the first time I ever dined at a Chinee hotel.”

“We were lucky in coming across it,” said Joe.

“The poor fellow looked frightened when he saw us gobblin’ up his
provisions,” said Mr. Bickford, laughing at the recollection.

“But we left him pretty well satisfied. We didn’t treat him as the
gentleman from Pike treated us.”

“No--I wouldn’t be so mean as that darned skunk. It makes me mad
whenever I look at this consumptive hoss he’s left behind.”

“You didn’t make much out of that horse trade, Mr. Bickford.”

“I didn’t, but I’ll get even with him some time if we ever meet
again.”

“Do you know where he was bound?”

“No--he didn’t say.”

“I dare say it’ll all come right in the end. At any rate, we shan’t
starve for the next forty-eight hours.”

So in better spirits the two companions kept on their way.




CHAPTER XXX

ON THE YUBA RIVER


On the following day Joe and his comrade fell in with a party of
men who, like themselves, were on their way to the Yuba River. They
were permitted to join them, and made an arrangement for a share of
the provisions. This removed all anxiety and insured their reaching
their destination without further adventure.

The banks of the Yuba presented a busy and picturesque appearance.
On the banks was a line of men roughly clad, earnestly engaged in
scooping out gravel and pouring it into a rough cradle, called a
rocker. This was rocked from side to side until the particles of
gold, if there were any, settled at the bottom and were picked out
and gathered into bags. At the present time there are improved
methods of separating gold from the earth, but the rocker is still
employed by Chinese miners.

In the background were tents and rude cabins, and there was the
unfailing accessory of a large mining-camp, the gambling tent,
where the banker, like a wily spider, lay in wait to appropriate
the hard-earned dust of the successful miner.

Joe and his friend took their station a few rods from the river and
gazed at the scene before them.

“Well, Mr. Bickford,” said Joe, “the time has come when we are to
try our luck.”

“Yes,” said Joshua. “Looks curious, doesn’t it? If I didn’t know,
I’d think them chaps fools, stoopin’ over there and siftin’ mud. It
’minds me of when I was a boy and used to make dirt pies.”

“Suppose we take a day and look round a little. Then we can find
out about how things are done, and work to better advantage.”

“Just as you say, Joe, I must go to work soon, for I hain’t nary
red.”

“I’ll stand by you, Mr. Bickford.”

“You’re a fust-rate feller, Joe. You seem to know just what to do.”

“It isn’t so long since I was a greenhorn and allowed myself to be
taken in by Hogan.”

“You’ve cut your eye-teeth since then.”

“I have had some experience of the world, but I may get taken in
again.”

Joe and his friend found the miners social and very ready to give
them information.

“How much do I make a day?” said one in answer to a question from
Joshua. “Well, it varies. Sometimes I make ten dollars, and from
that all the way up to twenty-five. Once I found a piece worth
fifty dollars. I was in luck then.”

“I should say you were,” said Mr. Bickford. “The idea of findin’
fifty dollars in the river. It looks kind of strange, don’t it,
Joe?”

“Are any larger pieces ever found here?” asked Joe.

“Sometimes.”

“I have seen larger nuggets on exhibition in San Francisco, worth
several hundred dollars. Are any such to be found here?”

“Generally they come from the dry diggings. We don’t often find
such specimens in the river washings. But these are more reliable.”

“Can a man save money here?”

“If he’ll be careful of what he gets. But much of our dust goes
there.”

He pointed, as he spoke, to a small cabin, used as a store and
gambling den at one and the same time. There in the evening the
miners collected, and by faro, poker, or monte managed to lose all
that they had washed out during the day.

“That’s the curse of our mining settlement,” said their informant.
“But for the temptations which the gaming-house offers, many
whom you see working here would now be on their way home with a
comfortable provision for their families. I never go there, but
then I am in the minority.”

“What did you used to do when you was to hum?” inquired Joshua,
who was by nature curious and had no scruples about gratifying his
curiosity.

“I used to keep school winters. In the spring and summer I assisted
my father on his farm down in Maine.”

“You don’t say you’re from Maine? Why, I’m from Maine myself,”
remarked Joshua.

“Indeed! Whereabouts in Maine did you live?”

“Pumpkin Hollow.”

“I kept school in Pumpkin Hollow one winter.”

“You don’t say so? What is your name?” inquired Joshua earnestly.

“John Kellogg.”

“I thought so!” exclaimed Mr. Bickford, excited.

“Why, I used to go to school to you, Mr. Kellogg.”

“It is nine years ago, and you must have changed so much that I
cannot call you to mind.”

“Don’t you remember a tall, slab-sided youngster of thirteen, that
used to stick pins into your chair for you to set on?”

Kellogg smiled.

“Surely you are not Joshua Bickford?” he said.

“Yes, I am. I am that same identical chap.”

“I am glad to see you, Mr. Bickford,” said his old school-teacher,
grasping Joshua’s hand cordially.

“It seems kinder queer for you to call me Mr. Bickford.”

“I wasn’t so ceremonious in the old times,” said Kellogg.

“No, I guess not. You’d say, ‘Come here, Joshua,’ and you’d jerk
me out of my seat by the collar. ‘Did you stick that pin in my
chair?’ That’s the way you used to talk. And then you’d give me an
all-fired lickin’.”

Overcome by the mirthful recollections, Joshua burst into an
explosive fit of laughter, in which presently he was joined by Joe
and his old teacher.

“I hope you’ve forgiven me for those whippings, Mr. Bickford.”

“They were jest what I needed, Mr. Kellogg. I was a lazy young
rascal, as full of mischief as a nut is of meat. You tanned my hide
well.”

“You don’t seem to be any the worse for it now.”

“I guess not. I’m pretty tough. I say, Mr. Kellogg,” continued
Joshua, with a grin, “you’d find it a harder job to give me a
lickin’ now than you did then.”

“I wouldn’t undertake it now. I am afraid you could handle me.”

“It seems cur’us, don’t it, Joe?” said Joshua. “When Mr. Kellogg
used to haul me round the schoolroom, it didn’t seem as if I could
ever be a match for him.”

“We change with the passing years,” said Kellogg, in a moralizing
tone, which recalled his former vocation. “Now you are a man, and
we meet here on the other side of the continent, on the banks of
the Yuba River. I hope we are destined to be successful.”

“I hope so, too,” said Joshua, “for I’m reg’larly cleaned out.”

“If I can help you any in the way of information, I shall be glad
to do so.”

Joe and Bickford took him at his word and made many inquiries,
eliciting important information.

The next day they took their places farther down the river and
commenced work.

Their inexperience at first put them at a disadvantage. They were
awkward and unskilful, as might have been expected. Still, at the
end of the first day each had made about five dollars.

“That’s something,” said Joe.

“If I could have made five dollars in one day in Pumpkin Hollow,”
said Mr. Bickford, “I would have felt like a rich man. Here it
costs a feller so much to live that he don’t think much of it.”

“We shall improve as we go along. Wait till to-morrow night.”

The second day brought each about twelve dollars, and Joshua felt
elated.

“I’m gettin’ the hang of it,” said he. “As soon as I’ve paid up
what I owe you, I’ll begin to lay by somethin’.”

“I don’t want you to pay me till you are worth five hundred
dollars, Mr. Bickford. The sum is small, and I don’t need it.”

“Thank you, Joe. You’re a good friend. I’ll stick by you if you
ever want help.”

In the evening the camp presented a lively appearance.

When it was chilly, logs would be brought from the woods, and a
bright fire would be lighted, around which the miners would sit
and talk of home and their personal adventures and experiences.
One evening Mr. Bickford and Joe were returning from a walk, when,
as they approached the camp-fire, they heard a voice that sounded
familiar, and caught these words:

“I’m from Pike County, Missouri, gentlemen. They call me the
Rip-tail Roarer. I can whip my weight in wildcats.”

“By gosh!” exclaimed Joshua, “if it ain’t that skunk from Pike. I
mean to tackle him.”




CHAPTER XXXI

JUDGE LYNCH PRONOUNCES SENTENCE


The gentleman from Pike was sitting on a log, surrounded by miners,
to whom he was relating his marvelous exploits. The number of
Indians, grizzly bears, and enemies generally, which, according
to his account, he had overcome and made way with, was simply
enormous. Hercules was nothing to him. It can hardly be said that
his listeners credited his stories. They had seen enough of life
to be pretty good judges of human nature, and regarded them as
romances which served to while away the time.

“It seems to me, my friend,” said Kellogg, who, it will be
remembered, had been a schoolmaster, “that you are a modern
Hercules.”

“Who’s he?” demanded the Pike man suspiciously, for he had never
heard of the gentleman referred to.

“He was a great hero of antiquity,” exclaimed Kellogg, “who did
many wonderful feats.”

“That’s all right, then,” said the Pike man. “If you’re friendly,
then I’m friendly. But if any man insults me he’ll find he’s
tackled the wrong man. I can whip my weight in wildcats----”

Here he was subjected to an interruption.

Mr. Bickford could no longer suppress his indignation when at a
little distance he saw his mustang, which this treacherous braggart
had robbed him of, quietly feeding.

“Look here, old Rip-tail, or whatever you call yourself, I’ve got
an account to settle with you.”

The Pike man started as he heard Mr. Bickford’s voice, which, being
of a peculiar nasal character, he instantly recognized. He felt
that the meeting was an awkward one, and he would willingly have
avoided it. He decided to bluff Joshua off if possible, and, as the
best way of doing it, to continue his game of brag.

“Who dares to speak to me thus?” he demanded with a heavy frown,
looking in the opposite direction. “Who insults the Rip-tail
Roarer?”

“Look this way if you want to see him,” said Joshua. “Put on your
specs if your eyes ain’t good.”

The man from Pike could no longer evade looking at his late
comrade. He pretended not to know him.

“Stranger,” said he, with one hand on the handle of his knife, “are
you tired of life?”

“I am neither tired of life nor afraid of you,” said Joshua
manfully.

“You don’t know me, or----”

“Yes, I do. You’re the man that says he can whip his weight in
wildcats. I don’t believe you dare to face your weight in tame
cats.”

“Sdeath!” roared the bully. “Do you want to die on the spot?”

“Not particularly, old Rip-tail. Don’t talk sech nonsense. I’ll
trouble you to tell me why you stole my horse on the way out here.”

“Let me get at him,” said the Pike man in a terrible voice, but not
offering to get up from the log.

“Nobody henders your gettin’ at me,” said Mr. Bickford composedly.
“But that ain’t answerin’ my question.”

“If I didn’t respect them two gentlemen too much, I’d shoot you
where you stand,” said the Pike man.

“I’ve got a shootin’-iron myself, old Rip-tail, and I’m goin’ to
use it if necessary.”

“What have you to say in answer to this man’s charge?” asked one of
the miners, a large man who was looked upon as the leader of the
company. “He charges you with taking his horse.”

“He lies!” said the man from Pike.

“Be keerful, old Rip-tail,” said Mr. Bickford in a warning tone. “I
don’t take sass any more than you do.”

“I didn’t steal your horse.”

“No, you didn’t exactly steal it, but you took it without leave and
left your own bag of bones in his place. But that wasn’t so bad as
stealin’ all our provisions and leavin’ us without a bite, out in
the wilderness. That’s what I call tarnation mean.”

“What have you to say to these charges?” asked the mining leader
gravely.

“Say? I say that man is mistaken. I never saw him before in my
life.”

“Well, that’s cheeky,” said Joshua, aghast at the man’s impudence.
“Why, I know you as well as if we’d been to school together. You
are the Rip-tail Roarer. You are from Pike County, Missouri, you
are. You can whip your weight in wildcats. That’s he, gentlemen. I
leave it to you.”

In giving the description, Joshua imitated the boastful accents of
his old comrade with such success that the assembled miners laughed
and applauded.

“That’s he! You’ve got him!” they cried.

“Just hear that, old Rip-tail,” said Mr. Bickford. “You see these
gentlemen here believe me and they don’t believe you.”

“There’s a man in this here country that looks like me,” said the
Pike man, with a lame excuse. “You’ve met him, likely.”

“That won’t go down, old Rip-tail. There ain’t but one man can whip
his weight in wildcats and tell the all-firedest yarns out. That’s
you, and there ain’t no gettin’ round it.”

“This is a plot, gentlemen,” said the man from Pike, glancing
uneasily at the faces around him, in which he read disbelief of his
statements. “My word is as good as his.”

“Maybe it is,” said Mr. Bickford. “I’ll call another witness. Joe,
jest tell our friends here what you know about the gentleman from
Pike. If I’m lyin’, say so, and I’ll subside and never say another
word about it.”

“All that my friend Bickford says is perfectly true,” said Joe
modestly. “This man partook of our hospitality and then repaid us
by going off early one morning when we were still asleep, carrying
off all our provisions and exchanging his own worn-out horse for my
friend’s mustang, which was a much better animal.”

The man from Pike had not at first seen Joe. His countenance fell
when he saw how Mr. Bickford’s case was strengthened, and for the
moment he could not think of a word to say.

“You are sure this is the man, Joe?” asked, the leader of the
miners.

“Yes, I will swear to it. He is not a man whom it is easy to
mistake.”

“I believe you. Gentlemen,” turning to the miners who were sitting
or standing about him, “do you believe this stranger or our two
friends?”

The reply was emphatic, and the man from Pike saw that he was
condemned.

“Gentlemen,” he said, rising, “you are mistaken, and I am the
victim of a plot. It isn’t pleasant to stay where I am suspected,
and I’ll bid you good evening.”

“Not so fast!” said the leader, putting his hand heavily on his
shoulder. “You deserve to be punished, and you shall be. Friends,
what shall we do with him?”

“Kill him! String him up!” shouted some.

The Rip-tail Roarer’s swarthy face grew pale as he heard these
ominous words. He knew something of the wild, stern justice of
those days. He knew that more than one for an offense like his had
expiated his crime with his life.

“It seems to me,” said the leader, “that the man he injured should
fix the penalty. Say you so?”

“Aye, aye!” shouted the miners.

“Will you two,” turning to Joe and Bickford, “decide what shall be
done with this man? Shall we string him up?”

The Pike man’s nerve gave way.

He flung himself on his knees before Joshua and cried:

“Mercy! mercy! Don’t let them hang me!”

Joshua was not hard-hearted. He consulted with Joe and then said:

“I don’t want the critter’s life. If there was any wildcats round,
I’d like to see him tackle his weight in ’em, as he says he can. As
there isn’t, let him be tied on the old nag he put off on me, with
his head to the horse’s tail, supplied with one day’s provisions,
and then turned loose!”

This sentence was received with loud applause and laughter.

The horse was still in camp and was at once brought out. The man
from Pike was securely tied on as directed, and then the poor beast
was belabored with whips till he started off at the top of his
speed, which his old owner, on account of his reversed position,
was unable to regulate. He was followed by shouts and jeers from
the miners, who enjoyed this act of retributive justice.

“Mr. Bickford, you are avenged,” said Joe.

“So I am, Joe. I’m glad I’ve got my hoss back; but I can’t help
pityin’ poor old Rip-tail, after all. I don’t believe he ever
killed a wildcat in his life.”




CHAPTER XXXII

TAKING ACCOUNT OF STOCK


Three months passed. They were not eventful. The days were spent
in steady and monotonous work; the nights were passed around the
camp-fire, telling and hearing stories and talking of home. Most of
their companions gambled and drank, but Mr. Bickford and Joe kept
clear of these pitfalls.

“Come, man, drink with me,” more than once one of his comrades said
to Joshua.

“No, thank you,” said Joshua.

“Why not? Ain’t I good enough?” asked the other, half offended.

“You mean I’m puttin’ on airs ’cause I won’t drink with you? No,
sir-ree. There isn’t a man I’d drink with sooner than with you.”

“Come up, then, old fellow. What’ll you take?”

“I’ll take a sandwich, if you insist on it.”

“That’s vittles. What’ll you drink?”

“Nothing but water. That’s strong enough for me.”

“Danged if I don’t believe you’re a minister in disguise.”

“I guess I’d make a cur’us preacher,” said Joshua, with a comical
twist of his features. “You wouldn’t want to hear me preach more’n
once.”

In this way our friend Mr. Bickford managed to evade the hospitable
invitations of his comrades and still retain their good-will--not
always an easy thing to achieve in those times.

Joe was equally positive in declining to drink, but it was easier
for him to escape. Even the most confirmed drinkers felt it to be
wrong to coax a boy to drink against his will.

There was still another--Kellogg--who steadfastly adhered to cold
water, or tea and coffee, as a beverage. These three were dubbed
by their companions the “Cold-Water Brigade,” and accepted the
designation good-naturedly.

“Joshua,” said Joe, some three months after their arrival, “have
you taken account of stock lately?”

“No,” said Joshua, “but I’ll do it now.”

After a brief time he announced the result.

“I’ve got about five hundred dollars, or thereabouts,” he said.

“You have done a little better than I have.”

“How much have you?”

“About four hundred and fifty.”

“I owe you twenty-five dollars, Joe. That’ll make us even.”

Joshua was about to transfer twenty-five dollars to Joe, when the
latter stayed his hand.

“Don’t be in a hurry, Mr. Bickford,” he said. “Wait till we get to
the city.”

“Do you know, Joe,” said Joshua, in a tone of satisfaction, “I am
richer than I was when I sot out from home?”

“I am glad to hear it, Mr. Bickford. You have worked hard, and
deserve your luck.”

“I had only three hundred dollars then; now I’ve got four hundred
and seventy-five, takin’ out what I owe you.”

“You needn’t take it out at all.”

“You’ve done enough for me, Joe. I don’t want you to give me that
debt.”

“Remember, Joshua, I have got a business in the city paying me
money all the time. I expect my share of the profits will be more
than I have earned out here.”

“That’s good. I wish I’d got a business like you. You’d be all
right even if you only get enough to pay expenses here.”

“That’s so.”

“I am getting rather tired of this place, Mr. Bickford,” said Joe,
after a little pause.

“You don’t think of going back to the city?” asked Joshua
apprehensively.

“Not directly, but I think I should like to see a little more of
California. These are not the only diggings.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I haven’t considered yet. The main thing is, will you go with me?”

“We won’t part company, Joe.”

“Good! Then I’ll inquire, and see what I can find out about other
places. This pays fairly, but there is little chance of getting
nuggets of any size hereabouts.”

“I’d just like to find one worth two thousand dollars. I’d start
for home mighty quick, and give Sukey Smith a chance to become Mrs.
Bickford.”

“Success to you!” said Joe, laughing.




CHAPTER XXXIII

A STARTLING TABLEAU


Joe finally decided on some mines a hundred miles distant in
a southwesterly direction. They were reported to be rich and
promising.

“At any rate,” said he, “even if they are no better than here, we
shall get a little variety and change of scene.”

“That’ll be good for our appetite.”

“I don’t think, Mr. Bickford, that either of us need be concerned
about his appetite. Mine is remarkably healthy.”

“Nothing was ever the matter with mine,” said Joshua, “as long as
the provisions held out.”

They made some few preparations of a necessary character. Their
clothing was in rags, and they got a new outfit at the mining
store. Each also provided himself with a rifle. The expense of
these made some inroads upon their stock of money, but by the time
they were ready to start they had eight hundred dollars between
them, besides their outfit, and this they considered satisfactory.

Kellogg at first proposed to go with them, but finally he changed
his mind.

“I am in a hurry to get home,” he said, “and these mines are a sure
thing. If I were as young as you, I would take the risk. As it is,
I had better not. I’ve got a wife and child at home, and I want to
go back to them as soon as I can.”

“You are right,” said Joe.

“I’ve got a girl at home,” said Joshua, “but I guess she’ll wait
for me.”

“Suppose she don’t,” suggested Joe.

“I shan’t break my heart,” said Mr. Bickford. “There’s more than
one girl in the world.”

“I see you are a philosopher, Mr. Bickford,” said his old
schoolmaster.

“I don’t know about that, but I don’t intend to make a fool of
myself for any gal. I shall say, ’Sukey, here I am; I’ve got a
little money, and I’m your’n till death if you say so. If you don’t
want me, I won’t commit susan-cide.”

“That’s a capital joke, Joshua,” said Joe. “Her name is Susan,
isn’t it?”

“Have I made a joke? Waal, I didn’t go to do it.”

“It is unconscious wit, Mr. Bickford,” said Kellogg.

“Pooty good joke, ain’t it?” said Joshua complacently. “Susan-cide,
and her name is Susan. Ho! ho! I never thought on’t.”

And Joshua roared in appreciation of the joke which he had
unwittingly perpetrated, for it must be explained that he thought
susan-cide the proper form of the word expressing a voluntary
severing of the vital cord.

Years afterward, when Joshua found himself the center of a social
throng, he was wont to say, “Ever heard that joke I made about
Susan?” and then he would cite it amid the plaudits of his friends.

Mr. Bickford and Joe had not disposed of their horses. They had
suffered them to forage in the neighborhood of the river, thinking
it possible that the time would come when they would require them.

One fine morning they set out from the camp near the banks of the
Yuba and set their faces in a southwesterly direction. They had
made themselves popular among their comrades, and the miners gave
them a hearty cheer as they started.

“Good luck, Joe! Good luck, old man!” they exclaimed heartily.

“The same to you, boy!”

So with mutual good feeling they parted company.

“We ain’t leavin’ like our friend from Pike County,” said Mr.
Bickford. “I often think of the poor critter trottin’ off with face
to the rear.”

“I hope we shan’t meet him or any of his kind,” said Joe.

“So do I. He’d better go and live among the wildcats.”

“He is some like them. He lives upon others.”

It would only be wearisome to give a detailed account of the
journey of the two friends. One incident will suffice.

On the fourth day Joe suddenly exclaimed in excitement:

“Look, Joshua!”

“By gosh!”

The exclamation was a natural one. At the distance of forty rods
a man was visible, his hat off, his face wild with fear, and in
dangerous proximity a grizzly bear of the largest size doggedly
pursuing him.

“It’s Hogan!” exclaimed Joe in surprise. “We must save him.”




CHAPTER XXXIV

A GRIZZLY ON THE WAR-PATH


It may surprise some of my young friends to learn that the grizzly
bear is to be found in California. Though as the State has
increased in population mostly all have been killed off, even now
among the mountains they may be found, and occasionally visit the
lower slopes and attack men and beasts.

Hogan had had the ill-luck to encounter one of these animals.

When he first saw the grizzly there was a considerable space
between them. If he had concealed himself, he might have escaped
the notice of the beast, but when he commenced running the grizzly
became aware of his presence and started in pursuit.

Hogan was rather dilapidated in appearance. Trusting to luck
instead of labor, he had had a hard time, as he might have
expected. His flannel shirt was ragged and his nether garments
showed the ravages of time. In the race his hat had dropped off
and his rough, unkempt hair was erect with fright. He was running
rapidly, but was already showing signs of exhaustion. The bear was
getting over the ground with clumsy speed, appearing to take it
easily, but overhauling his intended victim slowly, but surely.

Joe and Bickford were standing on one side, and had not yet
attracted the attention of either party in this unequal race.

“Poor chap!” said Joshua. “He looks most tuckered out. Shall I
shoot?”

“Wait till the bear gets a little nearer. We can’t afford to miss.
He will turn on us.”

“I’m in a hurry to roll the beast over,” said Joshua. “It’s a cruel
sight to see a grizzly hunting a man.”

At this moment Hogan turned his head with the terror-stricken look
of a man who felt that he was lost.

The bear was little more than a hundred feet behind him and was
gaining steadily. He was already terribly fatigued--his breathing
was reduced to a hoarse pant. He was overcome by the terror of the
situation, and his remaining strength gave way. With a shrill cry
he sank down upon the ground, and, shutting his eyes, awaited the
attack.

The bear increased his speed.

“Now let him have it!” said Joe in a sharp, quick whisper.

Mr. Bickford fired, striking the grizzly in the face.

Bruin stood still and roared angrily. He wagged his large head from
one side to the other, seeking by whom this attack was made.

He espied the two friends, and, abandoning his pursuit of Hogan,
rolled angrily toward them.

“Give it to him quick, Joe!” exclaimed Bickford. “He’s making for
us.”

Joe held his rifle with steady hand and took deliberate aim. It was
well he did, for had he failed both he and Bickford would have been
in great peril.

His faithful rifle did good service.

The bear tumbled to the earth with sudden awkwardness. The bullet
had reached a vital part and the grizzly was destined to do no more
mischief.

“Is he dead, or only feigning?” asked Joe prudently.

“He’s a gone coon,” said Joshua. “Let us go up and look at him.”

They went up and stood over the huge beast. He was not quite dead.
He opened his glazing eyes, made a convulsive movement with his
paws as if he would like to attack his foes, and then his head fell
back and he moved no more.

“He’s gone, sure enough,” said Bickford. “Good-by, old grizzly. You
meant well, but circumstances interfered with your good intentions.”

“Now let us look up Hogan,” said Joe.

The man had sunk to the ground utterly exhausted, and in his
weakness and terror had fainted.

Joe got some water and threw it in his face.

He opened his eyes and drew a deep breath. A sudden recollection
blanched his face anew, and he cried:

“Don’t let him get at me!”

“You’re safe, Mr. Hogan,” said Joe. “The bear is dead.”

“Dead! Is he really dead?”

“If you don’t believe it, get up and look at him,” said Bickford.

“I can’t get up--I’m so weak.”

“Let me help you, then. There--do you see the critter?”

Hogan shuddered as he caught sight of the huge beast only
twenty-five feet distant from him.

“Was he as near as that?” he gasped.

“He almost had you,” said Bickford. “If it hadn’t been for Joe and
me, he’d have been munchin’ you at this identical minute. Things
have changed a little, and in place of the bear eatin’ you you
shall help eat the bear.”

By this time Hogan, realizing that he was safe, began to recover
his strength. As he did so he became angry with the beast that had
driven him such a hard race for life. He ran up to the grizzly and
kicked him.

“Take that!” he exclaimed with an oath. “I wish you wasn’t dead, so
that I could stick my knife into you.”

“If he wasn’t dead you’d keep your distance,” said Joshua dryly.
“It don’t require much courage to tackle him now.”

Hogan felt this to be a reflection upon his courage.

“I guess you’d have run, too, if he’d been after you,” he said.

“I guess I should. Bears are all very well in their place, but I’d
rather not mingle with ’em socially. They’re very affectionate and
fond of hugging, but if I’m going to be hugged I wouldn’t choose a
bear.”

“You seem to think I was a coward for runnin’ from the bear.”

“No, I don’t. How do I know you was runnin’ from the bear? Maybe
you was only takin’ a little exercise to get up an appetite for
dinner.”

“I am faint and weak,” said Hogan. “I haven’t had anything to eat
for twelve hours.”

“You shall have some food,” said Joe. “Joshua, where are the
provisions? We may as well sit down and lunch.”

“Jest as you say, Joe. I most generally have an appetite.”

There was a mountain spring within a stone’s throw. Joshua took
a tin pail and brought some of the sparkling beverage, which he
offered first to Hogan.

Hogan drank greedily. His throat was parched and dry, and he needed
it.

He drew a deep breath of relief.

“I feel better,” said he. “I was in search of a spring when that
cursed beast spied me and gave me chase.”

They sat down under the shade of a large tree and lunched.

“What sort of luck have you had since you tried to break into my
restaurant, Mr. Hogan?” asked Joe.

Hogan changed color. The question was an awkward one.

“Who told you I tried to enter your restaurant?” he asked.

“The man you brought there.”

“That wasn’t creditable of you, Hogan,” said Joshua, with his mouth
full. “After my friend Joe had given you a supper and promised you
breakfast, it was unkind to try to rob him. Don’t you think so
yourself?”

“I couldn’t help it,” said Hogan, who had rapidly decided on his
defense.

“Couldn’t help it?” said Joe in a tone of inquiry. “That’s rather a
strange statement.”

“It’s true,” said Hogan. “The man forced me to do it.”

“How was that?”

“He saw me comin’ out of the restaurant a little while before, and
when he met me, after trying to rob me and finding that it didn’t
pay, he asked me if I was a friend of yours. I told him I was. Then
he began to ask if you slept there at night and if anybody was with
you. I didn’t want to answer, but he held a pistol at my head and
forced me to. Then he made me go with him. I offered to get in,
thinking I could whisper in your ear and warn you, but he wouldn’t
let me. He stationed me at the window and got in himself. You know
what followed. As soon as I saw you were too strong for him I ran
away, fearing that he might try to implicate me in the attempt at
robbery.”

Hogan recited this story very glibly and in a very plausible manner.

“Mr. Hogan,” said Joe, “if I didn’t know you so thoroughly, I might
be disposed to put confidence in your statements. As it is, I
regret to say I don’t believe you.”

“Hogan,” said Joshua, “I think you’re one of the fust romancers of
the age. If I ever start a story-paper I’ll engage you to write for
me.”

“I am sorry you do me so much injustice, gentlemen,” said
Hogan, with an air of suffering innocence. “I’m the victim of
circumstances.”

“I expect you’re a second George Washington. You never told a lie,
did you?”

“Some time you will know me better,” said Hogan.

“I hope not,” said Joe. “I know you better now than I want to.”




CHAPTER XXXV

THE NEW DIGGINGS


When lunch-was over, Joe said:

“Good day, Mr. Hogan. Look out for the grizzlies, and may you have
better luck in future.”

“Yes, Hogan, good-by,” said Joshua. “We make over to you all our
interest in the bear. He meant to eat you. You can revenge yourself
by eatin’ him.”

“Are you going to leave me, gentlemen?” asked Hogan in alarm.

“You don’t expect us to stay and take care of you, do you?”

“Let me go with you,” pleaded Hogan. “I am afraid to be left alone
in this country. I may meet another grizzly, and lose my life.”

“That would be a great loss to the world,” said Mr. Bickford, with
unconcealed sarcasm.

“It would be a great loss to me,” said Hogan.

“Maybe that’s the best way to put it,” observed Bickford. “It would
have been money in my friend Joe’s pocket if you had never been
born.”

“May I go with you?” pleaded Hogan, this time addressing himself to
Joe.

“Mr. Hogan,” said Joe, “you know very well why your company is not
acceptable to us.”

“You shall have no occasion to complain,” said Hogan earnestly.

“Do you want us to adopt you, Hogan?” asked Joshua.

“Let me stay with you till we reach the nearest diggings. Then I
won’t trouble you any more.”

Joe turned to Bickford.

“If you don’t object,” he said, “I think I’ll let him come.”

“Let the critter come,” said Bickford. “He’d be sure to choke any
grizzly that tackled him. For the sake of the bear, let him come.”

Mr. Hogan was too glad to join the party, on any conditions, to
resent the tone which Mr. Bickford employed in addressing him. He
obtained his suit, and the party of three kept on their way.

As they advanced the country became rougher and more hilly. Here
and there they saw evidences of “prospecting” by former visitors.
They came upon deserted claims and the sites of former camps. But
in these places the indications of gold had not been sufficiently
favorable to warrant continued work, and the miners had gone
elsewhere.

At last, however, they came to a dozen men who were busily at
work in a gulch. Two rude huts near-by evidently served as their
temporary homes.

“Well, boys, how do you find it?” inquired Bickford, riding up.

“Pretty fair,” said one of the party.

“Have you got room for three more?”

“Yes--come along. You can select claims alongside and go to work if
you want to.”

“What do you say, Joe?”

“I am in favor of it.”

“We are going to put up here, Hogan,” said Mr. Bickford. “You can
do as you’ve a mind to. Much as we value your interestin’ society,
we hope you won’t put yourself out to stay on our account.”

“I’ll stay,” said Hogan.

Joe and Joshua surveyed the ground and staked out their claims,
writing out the usual notice and posting it on a neighboring tree.
They had not all the requisite tools, but these they were able to
purchase at one of the cabins.

“What shall I do?” asked Hogan. “I’m dead broke. I can’t work
without tools, and I can’t buy any.”

“Do you want to work for me?” asked Joshua.

“What’ll you give?”

“That’ll depend on how you work. If you work stiddy, I’ll give you
a quarter of what we both make. I’ll supply you with tools, but
they’ll belong to me.”

“Suppose we don’t make anything,” suggested Hogan.

“You shall have a quarter of that. You see, I want to make it for
your interest to succeed.”

“Then I shall starve.”

The bargain was modified so that Hogan was assured of enough to
eat, and was promised, besides, a small sum of money daily, but was
not to participate in the gains.

“If we find a nugget, it won’t do you any good. Do you understand,
Hogan?”

“Yes, I understand.”

He shrugged his shoulders, having very little faith in any
prospective nuggets.

“Then we understand each other. That’s all I want.”

On the second day Joe and Mr. Bickford consolidated their claims
and became partners, agreeing to divide whatever they found. Hogan
was to work for them jointly.

They did not find their hired man altogether satisfactory. He was
lazy and shiftless by nature, and work was irksome to him.

“If you don’t work stiddy, Hogan,” said Joshua, “you can’t expect
to eat stiddy, and your appetite is pretty reg’lar, I notice.”

Under this stimulus Hogan managed to work better than he had done
since he came out to California, or indeed for years preceding his
departure. Bickford and Joe had both been accustomed to farm work
and easily lapsed into their old habits.

They found they had made a change for the better in leaving the
banks of the Yuba. The claims they were now working paid them
better.

“Twenty-five dollars to-day,” said Joshua, a week after their
arrival. “That pays better than hoeing pertaters, Joe.”

“You are right, Mr. Bickford. You are ten dollars ahead of me. I am
afraid you will lose on our partnership.”

“I’ll risk it, Joe.”

Hogan was the only member of the party who was not satisfied.

“Can’t you take me into partnership?” he asked.

“We can, but I don’t think we will, Hogan,” said Mr. Bickford.

“It wouldn’t pay. If you don’t like workin’ for us, you can take a
claim of your own.”

“I have no tools.”

“Why don’t you save your money and buy some, instead of gamblin’ it
away as you are doin’?”

“A man must have amusement,” grumbled Hogan. “Besides, I may have
luck and win.”

“Better keep clear of gamblin’, Hogan.”

“Mr. Hogan, if you want to start a claim of your own, I’ll give you
what tools you need,” said Joe.

Upon reflection Hogan decided to accept this offer.

“But of course you will have to find your own vittles now,” said
Joshua.

“I’ll do it,” said Hogan.

The same day he ceased to work for the firm of Bickford & Mason,
for Joe insisted on giving Mr. Bickford the precedence as the
senior party, and started on his own account.

The result was that he worked considerably less than before. Being
his own master, he decided not to overwork himself, and in fact
worked only enough to make his board. He was continually grumbling
over his bad luck, although Joshua told him plainly that it wasn’t
luck, but industry, he lacked.

“If you’d work like we do,” said Bickford, “you wouldn’t need to
complain. Your claim is just as good as ours, as far as we can
tell.”

“Then let us go in as partners,” said Hogan.

“Not much. You ain’t the kind of partner I want.”

“I was always unfortunate,” said Hogan.

“You were always lazy, I reckon. You were born tired, weren’t you?”

“My health ain’t good,” said Hogan. “I can’t work like you two.”

“You’ve got a healthy appetite,” said Mr. Bickford. “There ain’t no
trouble there that I can see.”

Mr. Hogan had an easier time than before, but he hadn’t money to
gamble with unless he deprived himself of his customary supply of
food, and this he was reluctant to do.

“Lend me half-an-ounce of gold-dust, won’t you?” he asked of Joe
one evening.

“What do you want it for--to gamble with?”

“Yes,” said Hogan. “I dreamed last night that I broke the bank. All
I want is money enough to start me.”

“I don’t approve of gambling, and can’t help you.”

Hogan next tried Mr. Bickford, but with like result.

“I ain’t quite such a fool, Hogan,” said the plain-spoken Joshua.

About this time a stroke of good luck fell to Joe. About three
o’clock one afternoon he unearthed a nugget which, at a rough
estimate, might be worth five hundred dollars.

Instantly all was excitement in the mining-camp, not alone for
what he had obtained, but for the promise of richer deposits.
Experienced miners decided that he had struck upon what is
popularly called a “pocket,” and some of these are immensely
remunerative.

“Shake hands, Joe,” said Bickford. “You’re in luck.”

“So are you, Mr. Bickford. We are partners, you know.”

In less than an hour the two partners received an offer of eight
thousand dollars for their united claim, and the offer was accepted.

Joe was the hero of the camp. All were rejoiced at his good fortune
except one. That one was Hogan, who from a little distance, jealous
and gloomy, surveyed the excited crowd.




CHAPTER XXXVI

HOGAN’S DISCONTENT


“Why don’t luck come to me?” muttered Hogan to himself. “That green
country boy has made a fortune, while I, an experienced man of the
world, have to live from hand to mouth. It’s an outrage!”

The parties to whom Joe and his partner sold their claim were
responsible men who had been fortunate in mining and had a
bank-account in San Francisco.

“We’ll give you an order on our banker,” they proposed.

“That will suit me better than money down,” said Joe. “I shall
start for San Francisco to-morrow, having other business there that
I need to look after.”

“I’ll go too, Joe,” said Joshua. “With my share of the
purchase-money and the nugget, I’m worth, nigh on to five thousand
dollars. What will dad say?”

“And what will Susan Smith say?” queried Joe.

Joshua grinned.

“I guess she’ll say she’s ready to change her name to Bickford,”
said he.

“You must send me some of the cake, Mr. Bickford.”

“Just wait, Joe. The thing ain’t got to that yet. I tell you, Joe,
I shall be somebody when I get home to Pumpkin Hollow with that
pile of money. The boys’ll begin to look up to me then. I can’t
hardly believe it’s all true. Maybe I’m dreamin’ it. Jest pinch my
arm, will you?”

Joe complied with his request.

“That’ll do, Joe. You’ve got some strength in your fingers. I guess
it’s true, after all.”

Joe observed with some surprise that Hogan did not come near them.
The rest, without exception, had congratulated them on their
extraordinary good luck.

“Seems to me Hogan looks rather down in the mouth,” said Joe to
Bickford.

“He’s mad ’cause he didn’t find the nugget. That’s what’s the
matter with him. I say, Hogan, you look as if your dinner didn’t
agree with you.”

“My luck don’t agree with me.”

“You don’t seem to look at things right. Wasn’t you lucky the other
day to get away from the bear?”

“I was unlucky enough to fall in with him.”

“Wasn’t you lucky in meetin’ my friend Joe in New York, and raisin’
money enough out of him to pay your passage out to Californy?”

“I should be better off in New York. I am dead broke.”

“You’d be dead broke in New York. Such fellers as you always is
dead broke.”

“Do you mean to insult me, Mr. Bickford?” demanded Hogan irritably.

“Oh, don’t rare up, Hogan. It won’t do no good. You’d ought to have
more respect for me, considerin’ I was your boss once.”

“I’d give something for that boy’s luck.”

“Joe’s luck? Well, things have gone pretty well with him; but that
don’t explain all his success--he’s willin’ to work.”

“So am I.”

“Then go to work on your claim. There’s no knowin’ but there’s a
bigger nugget inside of it. If you stand round with your hands in
your pockets, you’ll never find it.”

“It’s the poorest claim in the gulch,” said Hogan discontentedly.

“It pays the poorest because you don’t work half the time.”

Hogan apparently didn’t like Mr. Bickford’s plainness of speech. He
walked away moodily, with his hands in his pockets. He could not
help contrasting his penniless position with the enviable position
of the two friends, and the devil, who is always in wait for such
moments, thrust an evil suggestion into his mind.

It was this:

He asked himself why could he not steal the nugget which Joe had
found?

“He can spare it, for he has sold the claim for a fortune,” Hogan
reasoned. “It isn’t fair that he should have everything and I
should have nothing. He ought to have made me his partner, anyway.
He would if he hadn’t been so selfish. I have just as much right to
a share in it as this infernal Yankee. I’d like to choke him.”

This argument was a very weak one, but a man easily persuades
himself of what he wants to do.

“I’ll try for it,” Hogan decided, “this very night.”




CHAPTER XXXVII

THE NUGGET IS STOLEN


At this time Joe and Joshua were occupying a tent which they had
purchased on favorable terms of a fellow miner.

They retired in good season, for they wished to start early on
their journey on the following morning.

“I don’t know as I can go to sleep,” said Joshua. “I can’t help
thinkin’ of how rich I am, and what dad and all the folks will say.”

“Do you mean to go home at once, Mr. Bickford?”

“Jest as soon as I can get ready. I’ll tell you what I am goin’ to
do, Joe. I’m goin’ to buy a tip-top suit when I get to Boston, and
a gold watch and chain, and a breast-pin about as big as a saucer.
When I sail into Pumpkin Holler in that rig folks’ll look at me,
you bet. There’s old Squire Pennyroyal, he’ll be disappointed for
one.”

“Why will he be disappointed?”

“Because he told dad I was a fool to come out here. He said I’d be
back in rags before a year was out. Now, the old man thinks a good
deal of his opinion, and he won’t like it to find how badly he’s
mistaken.”

“Then he would prefer to see you come home in rags?”

“You bet he would.”

“How about Susan? Ain’t you afraid she has married the store clerk?”

Joshua looked grave for a moment.

“I won’t say but she has,” said he; “but if she has gone and
forgotten about me jest because my back is turned, she ain’t the
gal I take her for, and I won’t fret my gizzard about her.”

“She will feel worse than you when she finds you have come back
with money.”

“That’s so.”

“And you will easily find some one else,” suggested Joe.

“There’s Sophrony Thompson thinks a sight of me,” said Mr.
Bickford. “She’s awful jealous of Susan. If Susan goes back on me,
I’ll call round and see Sophrony.”

Joe laughed.

“I won’t feel anxious about you, Joshua,” he said, “since I find
you have two girls to choose between.”

“Not much danger of breakin’ my heart. It’s pretty tough.”

There was a brief silence.

Then Joshua said:

“What are your plans, Joe? Shall you remain in San Francisco?”

“I’ve been thinking, Mr. Bickford, that I would like to go home
on a visit. If I find that I have left my business in good hands
in the city, I shall feel strongly tempted to go home on the same
steamer with you.”

“That would be hunky,” said Bickford, really delighted. “We’d have
a jolly time.”

“I think we would. But, Mr. Bickford, I have no girls to welcome me
home, as you have.”

“You ain’t old enough yet, Joe. You’re a good-lookin’ feller, and
when the time comes I guess you can find somebody.”

“I don’t begin to trouble myself about such things yet,” said Joe,
laughing. “I am only sixteen.”

“You’ve been through considerable, Joe, for a boy of sixteen. I
wish you’d come up to Pumpkin Holler and make me a visit when
you’re to home.”

“Perhaps I can arrange to be present at your wedding, Mr.
Bickford--that is, if Susan doesn’t make you wait too long.”

While this conversation was going on the dark figure of a man was
prowling near the tent.

“Why don’t the fools stop talking and go to sleep,” muttered Hogan.
“I don’t want to wait here all night.” His wish was gratified.

The two friends ceased talking and lay quite still. Soon Joe’s
deep, regular breathing and Bickford’s snoring convinced the
listener that the time had come to carry out his plans.

With stealthy step he approached the tent, and stooping over gently
removed the nugget from under Joshua’s head. There was a bag of
gold-dust which escaped his notice. The nugget was all he thought
of.

With beating heart and hasty step the thief melted into the
darkness, and the two friends slept on unconscious of their loss.




CHAPTER XXXVIII

HOGAN’S FATE


The sun was up an hour before Joe and Bickford awoke. When Joe
opened his eyes he saw that it was later than the hour he intended
to rise. He shook his companion.

“Is it mornin’?” asked Bickford drowsily.

“I should say it was. Everybody is up and eating breakfast. We must
prepare to set out on our journey.”

“Then it is time--we are rich,” said Joshua, with sudden
remembrance. “Do you know, Joe, I hain’t got used to the thought
yet. I had actually forgotten it.”

“The sight of the nugget will bring it to mind.”

“That’s so.”

Bickford felt for the nugget, without a suspicion that the search
would be in vain.

Of course he did not find it.

“Joe, you are trying to play a trick on me,” he said. “You’ve taken
the nugget.”

“What!” exclaimed Joe, starting. “Is it missing?”

“Yes, and you know all about it. Where have you put it, Joe?”

“On my honor, Joshua, I haven’t touched it,” said Joe seriously.
“Where did you place it?”

“Under my head--the last thing before I lay down.”

“Are you positive of it?”

“Certain, sure.”

“Then,” said Joe, a little pale, “it must have been taken during
the night.”

“Who would take it?”

“Let us find Hogan,” said Joe, with instinctive suspicion. “Who has
seen Hogan?”

Hogan’s claim was in sight, but he was not at work. Neither was he
taking breakfast.

“I’ll bet the skunk has grabbed the nugget and cleared out,”
exclaimed Bickford, in a tone of conviction.

“Did you hear or see anything of him during the night?”

“No--I slept too sound.”

“Is anything else taken?” asked Joe. “The bag of dust----”

“Is safe. It’s only the nugget that’s gone.”

The loss was quickly noised about the camp. Such an incident was
of common interest. Miners lived so much in common--their property
was necessarily left so unguarded--that theft was something more
than misdemeanor or light offense. Stern was the justice which
overtook the thief in those days. It was necessary, perhaps, for it
was a primitive state of society, and the code which in established
communities was a safeguard did not extend its protection here.

Suspicion fell upon Hogan at once. No one of the miners remembered
to have seen him since rising.

“Did any one see him last night?” asked Joe.

Kellogg answered.

“I saw him near your tent,” he said. “I did not think anything
of it. Perhaps if I had been less sleepy I should have been more
likely to suspect that his design was not a good one.”

“About what hour was this?”

“It must have been between ten and eleven o’clock.”

“We did not go to sleep at once. Mr. Bickford and I were talking
over our plans.”

“I wish I’d been awake when the skunk come round,” said Bickford.
“I’d have grabbed him so he’d thought an old grizzly’d got hold of
him.”

“Did you notice anything in his manner that led you to think he
intended robbery?” asked Kellogg.

“He was complainin’ of his luck. He thought Joe and I got more than
our share, and I’m willin’ to allow we have; but if we’d been as
lazy and shif’less as Hogan we wouldn’t have got down to the nugget
at all.”

An informal council was held, and it was decided to pursue Hogan.
As it was uncertain in which direction he had fled, it was resolved
to send out four parties of two men each to hunt him. Joe and
Kellogg went together, Joshua and another miner departed in a
different direction, and two other pairs started out.

“I guess we’ll fix him,” said Mr. Bickford. “If he can dodge us
all, he’s smarter than I think he is.”

Meanwhile Hogan, with the precious nugget in his possession,
hurried forward with feverish haste. The night was dark and the
country was broken. From time to time he stumbled over some
obstacle, the root of a tree or something similar, and this made
his journey more arduous.

“I wish it was light,” he muttered.

Then he revoked his wish. In the darkness and obscurity lay his
hopes of escape.

“I’d give half this nugget if I was safe in San Francisco,” he said
to himself.

He stumbled on, occasionally forced by his fatigue to sit down and
rest.

“I hope I’m going in the right direction, but I don’t know,” he
said to himself.

He had been traveling with occasional rests for four hours when
fatigue overcame him. He lay down to take a slight nap, but when he
awoke the sun was up.

“Good Heaven!” he exclaimed in alarm. “I must have slept for some
hours. I will eat something to give me strength, and then I must
hurry on.”

He had taken the precaution to take some provisions with him, and
he began to eat them as he hurried along.

“They have just discovered their loss,” thought Hogan. “Will they
follow me, I wonder? I must be a good twelve miles away, and this
is a fair start. They will turn back before they have come as far
as this. Besides, they won’t know in what direction I have come.”

Hogan was mistaken in supposing himself to be twelve miles away.
In reality, he was not eight. During the night he had traveled at
disadvantage, and taken a round-about way without being aware of
it. He was mistaken also in supposing that the pursuit would be
easily abandoned. Mining communities could not afford to condone
theft, nor were they disposed to facilitate the escape of the
thief. More than once the murderer had escaped, while the thief was
pursued relentlessly. All this made Hogan’s position a perilous
one. If he had been long enough in the country to understand the
feeling of the people, he would not have ventured to steal the
nugget.

About eleven o’clock Hogan sat down to rest. He reclined on the
greensward near the edge of a precipitous descent. He did not dream
that danger was so close till he heard his name called and two men
came running toward him. Hogan, starting to his feet in dismay,
recognized Crane and Peabody, two of his late comrades.

“What do you want?” he faltered, as they came within hearing.

“The nugget,” said Crane sternly.

Hogan would have denied its possession if he could, but there it
was at his side.

“There it is,” he said.

“What induced you to steal it?” demanded Crane.

“I was dead broke. Luck was against me. I couldn’t help it.”

“It was a bad day’s work for you,” said Peabody. “Didn’t you know
the penalty attached to theft in the mining-camps?”

“No,” faltered Hogan, alarmed at the stern looks of his captors.
“What is it?”

“Death by hanging,” was the terrible reply.

Hogan’s face blanched, and he sank on his knees before them.

“Don’t let me be hung!” he entreated. “You’ve got the nugget back.
I’ve done no harm. No one has lost anything by me.”

“Eight of us have lost our time in pursuing you. You gave up the
nugget because you were forced to. You intended to carry it away.”

“Mercy! mercy! I’m a very unlucky man. I’ll go away and never
trouble you again.”

“We don’t mean that you shall,” said Crane sternly. “Peabody, tie
his hands; we must take him back with us.”

“I won’t go,” said Hogan, lying down. “I am not going back to be
hung.”

It would obviously be impossible to carry a struggling man back
fifteen miles, or more.

“We must hang you on the spot then,” said Crane, producing a cord.
“Say your prayers; your fate is sealed.”

“But this is murder!” faltered Hogan, with pallid lips.

“We take the responsibility.”

He advanced toward Hogan, who now felt the full horrors of his
situation. He sprang to his feet, rushed in frantic fear to the
edge of the precipice, threw up his arms, and plunged headlong. It
was done so quickly that neither of his captors was able to prevent
him.

They hurried to the precipice and looked over. A hundred feet
below, on a rough rock, they saw a shapeless and motionless figure,
crushed out of human semblance.

“Perhaps it is as well,” said Crane gravely. “He has saved us an
unwelcome task.”

The nugget was restored to its owners, to whom Hogan’s tragical
fate was told.

“Poor fellow!” said Joe soberly. “I would rather have lost the
nugget.”

“So would I,” said Bickford. “He was a poor, shif’less critter; but
I’m sorry for him.”




CHAPTER XXXIX

HOW JOE’S BUSINESS PROSPERED


Joe and his friend Bickford arrived in San Francisco eight days
later without having met with any other misadventure or drawback.
He had been absent less than three months, yet he found changes. A
considerable number of buildings had gone up in different parts of
the town during his absence.

“It is a wonderful place,” said Joe to his companion.

“It is going to be a great city some day.”

“It’s ahead of Pumpkin Holler already,” said Mr. Bickford, “though
the Holler has been goin’ for over a hundred years.”

Joe smiled at the comparison. He thought he could foresee the rapid
progress of the new city, but he was far from comprehending the
magnificent future that lay before it. A short time since, the
writer of this story ascended to the roof of the Palace Hotel,
and from this lofty elevation, a hundred and forty feet above the
sidewalk, scanned with delighted eyes a handsome and substantial
city, apparently the growth of a century, and including within its
broad limits a population of three hundred thousand souls. It will
not be many years before it reaches half-a-million, and may fairly
be ranked among the great cities of the world.

Of course Joe’s first visit was to his old place of business. He
received a hearty greeting from Watson, his deputy.

“I am glad to see you, Joe,” said he, grasping our hero’s hand
cordially. “When did you arrive?”

“Ten minutes ago. I have made you the first call.”

“Perhaps you thought I might have ‘vamosed the ranch,’” said
Watson, smiling, “and left you and the business in the lurch.”

“I had no fears on that score,” said Joe. “Has business been good?”

“Excellent. I have paid weekly your share of the profits to Mr.
Morgan.”

“Am I a millionaire yet?” asked Joe.

“Not quite. I have paid Mr. Morgan on your account”--here Watson
consulted a small account-book--“nine hundred and twenty-five
dollars.”

“Is it possible?” said Joe, gratified. “That is splendid.”

“Then you are satisfied?”

“More than satisfied.”

“I am glad of it. I have made the same for myself and so have
nearly half made up the sum which I so foolishly squandered at the
gaming-table.”

“I am glad for you, Mr. Watson.”

“How have you prospered at the mines?”

“I have had excellent luck.”

“I don’t believe you bring home as much money as I have made for
you here.”

“Don’t bet on that, Mr. Watson, for you would lose.”

“You don’t mean to say that you have made a thousand dollars?”
exclaimed Watson, surprised.

“I have made five thousand dollars within a hundred or two.”

“Is it possible?” ejaculated Watson. “You beat everything for luck,
Joe.”

“So he does,” said Bickford, who felt that it was time for him to
speak. “It’s lucky for me that I fell in with him. It brought me
luck, too, for we went into partnership together.”

“Have you brought home five thousand dollars, too?” asked Watson.

“I’ve got about the same as Joe, and now I’m going home to marry
Susan Smith if she’ll have me.”

“She’ll marry a rich miner, Mr. Bickford. You needn’t be concerned
about that.”

“I feel pretty easy in mind,” said Joshua.

“How soon do you sail?”

“When does the next steamer go?”

“In six days.”

“I guess it’ll carry me.”

Watson turned to Joe.

“I suppose you will now take charge of your own business?” said he.
“I am ready to hand over my trust at any minute.”

“Would you object to retaining charge for--say for four months to
come?” asked Joe.

“Object? I should be delighted to do it. I couldn’t expect to make
as much money any other way.”

“You see, Mr. Watson, I am thinking of going home myself on a
visit. I feel that I can afford it, and I should like to see my old
friends and acquaintances under my new and improved circumstances.”

Watson was evidently elated at the prospect of continued employment
of so remunerative a character.

“You may depend upon it that your interests are safe in my hands,”
said he. “I will carry on the business as if it were my own.
Indeed, it will be for my interest to do so.”

“I don’t doubt it, Mr. Watson. I have perfect confidence In your
management.”

Joe’s next call was on his friend Morgan, by whom also he was
cordially welcomed.

“Have you called on Watson?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then he has probably given you an idea of how your business has
gone on during your absence. He is a thoroughly reliable man, in my
opinion. You were fortunate to secure his services.”

“So I think.”

“Have you done well at the mines?” asked Mr. Morgan doubtfully.

“You hope so, but you don’t feel confident?” said Joe, smiling.

“You can read my thoughts exactly. I don’t consider mining as
reliable as a regular business.”

“Nor I, in general, but there is one thing you don’t take into
account.”

“What is that?”

Mr. Bickford answered the question.

“Joe’s luck.”

“Then you have been lucky?”

“How much do you think I have brought home?”

“A thousand dollars?”

“Five times that sum.”

“Are you in earnest?” asked Mr. Morgan, incredulous.

“Wholly so.”

“Then let me congratulate you--on that and something else.”

“What is that?”

“The lots you purchased, including the one on which your restaurant
is situated, have more than doubled in value.”

“Bully for you, Joe!” exclaimed Mr. Bickford enthusiastically.

“It never rains but it pours,” said Joe, quoting an old proverb. “I
begin to think I shall be rich some time, Mr. Morgan.”

“It seems very much like it.”

“What would you advise me to do, Mr. Morgan--sell out the lots at
the present advance?”

“Hold on to them, Joe. Not only do that, but buy more. This is
destined some day to be a great city. It has a favorable location,
is the great mining center, and the State, I feel convinced, has
an immense territory fit for agricultural purposes. Lots here may
fluctuate, but they will go up a good deal higher than present
figures.”

“If you think so, Mr. Morgan, I will leave in your hands three
thousand dollars for investment in other lots. This will leave me,
including my profits from the business during my absence, nearly
three thousand dollars more, which I shall take East and invest
there.”

“I will follow your instructions, Joe, and predict that your real
estate investments will make you rich sooner than you think.”

“Joe,” said Bickford, “I’ve a great mind to leave half of my money
with Mr. Morgan to be invested in the same way.”

“Do it, Mr. Bickford. That will leave you enough to use at home.”

“Yes--I can buy a farm for two thousand dollars and stock it for
five hundred more. Besides, I needn’t pay more than half down, if I
don’t want to.”

“A good plan,” said Joe.

“Mr. Morgan, will you take my money and invest it for me just like
Joe’s? Of course I want you to take a commission for doing it.”

“With pleasure, Mr. Bickford, more especially as I have decided to
open a real estate office in addition to my regular business. You
and Joe will be my first customers. I shouldn’t wonder if the two
or three thousand dollars you leave with me should amount in ten
years to ten thousand.”

“Ten thousand!” ejaculated Joshua, elated. “Won’t I swell round
Pumpkin Holler when I’m worth ten thousand dollars!”

Six days later, among the passengers by the steamer for Panama,
were Joseph Mason and Joshua Bickford.




CHAPTER XL

JOE’S WELCOME HOME


On arriving in New York both Joe and Mr. Bickford bought new suits
of clothes. Mr. Bickford purchased a blue dress suit, resplendent
with brass buttons, and a gold watch and chain, which made a good
deal of show for the money. His tastes were still barbaric, and a
quiet suit of black would not have come up to his idea of what was
befitting a successful California miner.

He surveyed himself before the tailor’s glass with abundant
satisfaction.

“I guess that’ll strike ’em at home, eh, Joe?” he said.

“You look splendid, Mr. Bickford.”

“Kinder scrumptious, don’t I?”

“Decidedly so.”

“I say, Joe, you’d better have a suit made just like this.”

Joe shuddered at the thought. In refinement of taste he was
decidedly ahead of his friend and partner.

“I’m going to buy a second-hand suit,” he said.

“What!” ejaculated Joshua.

Joe smiled.

“I knew you’d be surprised, but I’ll explain. I want people to
think at first that I have been unlucky.”

“Oh, I see,” said Joshua, nodding; “kinder take ’em in.”

“Just so, Mr. Bickford.”

“Well, there is something in that.”

“Then I shall find out who my true friends are.”

“Just so.”

       *       *       *       *       *

It is not my purpose to describe Mr. Bickford’s arrival in Pumpkin
Hollow, resplendent in his new suit. Joshua wouldn’t have changed
places with the President of the United States on that day. His
old friends gathered about him, and listened open-mouthed to
his stories of mining life in California and his own wonderful
exploits, which lost nothing in the telling. He found his faithful
Susan unmarried, and lost no time in renewing his suit. He came, he
saw, he conquered!

In four weeks Susan became Mrs. Bickford, her husband became
the owner of the farm he coveted, and he at once took his place
among the prominent men of Pumpkin Hollow. In a few years he
was appointed justice of the peace, and became known as Squire
Bickford. It may be as well to state here, before taking leave
of him, that his real estate investments in San Francisco proved
fortunate, and in ten years he found himself worth ten thousand
dollars. This to Joshua was a fortune, and he is looked upon as a
solid man in the town where he resides.

We now turn to Joe.

Since his departure nothing definite had been heard of him. Another
boy had taken his place on Major Norton’s farm, but he was less
reliable than Joe.

“I am out of patience with that boy. I wish I had Joe back again.”

“Have you heard anything of Joe since he went away?” inquired Oscar.

“Not a word.”

“I don’t believe he went to California at all.”

“In that case we should have heard from him.”

“No, Joe’s proud--poor and proud!” said Oscar. “I guess he’s wished
himself back many a time, but he’s too proud to own it.”

“Joe was good to work,” said the major.

“He was too conceited. He didn’t know his place. He thought himself
as good as me,” said Oscar arrogantly.

“Most people seemed to like Joe,” said the major candidly.

“I didn’t,” said Oscar, tossing his head. “If he’d kept in his
place and realized that he was a hired boy, I could have got along
well enough with him.”

“I wish he would come back,” said the major. “I would take him
back.”

“I dare say he’s had a hard time and would be humbler now,” said
Oscar.

At this moment a knock was heard at the door, and just afterward
Joe entered.

He wore a mixed suit considerably the worse for wear and patched in
two or three places. There was a rip under the arm, and his hat, a
soft felt one, had become shapeless from long and apparently hard
usage. He stood in the doorway, waiting for recognition.

“How do you do, Joe?” said Major Norton cordially. “I am glad to
see you.”

Joe’s face lighted up.

“Thank you, sir,” he said.

“Shake hands, Joe.”

Major Norton was mean in money matters, but he had something of the
gentleman about him.

Oscar held aloof.

“How do you do, Oscar?”

“I’m well,” said Oscar. “Have you been to California?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t seem to have made your fortune,” said Oscar
superciliously, eying Joe’s shabby clothing.

“I haven’t starved,” said Joe.

“Where did you get that suit of clothes?” asked Oscar.

“I hope you’ll excuse my appearance,” said Joe.

“Well, Joe, do you want to come back to your old place?” asked
Major Norton. “I’ve got a boy, but he doesn’t suit me.”

“How much would you be willing to pay me, Major Norton?”

The major coughed.

“Well,” said he, “I gave you your board and clothes before. That’s
pretty good pay for a boy.”

“I’m older now.”

“I’ll do the same by you, Joe, and give you fifty cents a week
besides.”

“Thank you for the offer, Major Norton. I’ll take till to-morrow to
think of it.”

“You’d better accept it now,” said Oscar. “Beggars shouldn’t be
choosers.”

“I am not a beggar, Oscar,” said Joe mildly.

“You look like one, anyway,” said Oscar bluntly.

“Oscar,” said Major Norton, “if Joe has been unlucky, you shouldn’t
throw it in his teeth.”

“He went off expecting to make his fortune,” said Oscar, in an
exulting tone. “He looks as if he had made it. Where are you going?”

“I am going to look about the village a little. I will call again.”

After Joe went out Oscar said:

“It does me good to see Joe come in rags. Serves him right for
putting on airs.”

On the main street Joe met Annie Raymond.

“Why, Joe!” she exclaimed, delighted. “Is it really you?”

“Bad pennies always come back,” said Joe.

“Have you---- I am afraid you have not been fortunate,” said the
young lady, hesitating as she noticed Joe’s shabby clothes.

“Do you think less of me for that?”

“No,” said Annie Raymond warmly. “It is you I like, not your
clothes. You may have been unfortunate, but I am sure you deserved
success.”

“You are a true friend, Miss Annie, so I don’t mind telling you
that I was successful.”

Annie Raymond looked astonished.

“And these clothes--” she began.

“I put on for Oscar Norton’s benefit. I wanted to see how he would
receive me. He evidently rejoiced at my bad fortune.”

“Oscar is a mean boy. Joe, you must come to our house to supper.”

“Thank you, I will; but I will go round to the hotel and change my
clothes.”

“Never mind.”

“But I do mind. I don’t fancy a shabby suit as long as I can afford
to wear a good one.”

Joe went to the hotel, took off his ragged clothes, put on a new
and stylish suit which he recently had made for him, donned a gold
watch and chain, and hat in the latest style, and thus dressed, his
natural good looks were becomingly set off.

“How do I look now?” he asked, when he met Miss Annie Raymond at
her own door.

“Splendidly, Joe. I thought you were a young swell from the city.”

After supper Annie said, her eyes sparkling with mischief:

“Suppose we walk over to Major Norton’s and see Oscar.”

“Just what I wanted to propose.”

Oscar was out in the front yard, when he caught sight of Joe and
Annie Raymond approaching. He did not at first recognize Joe, but
thought, like the young lady, that it was some swell from the city.

“You see I’ve come again, Oscar,” said Joe, smiling.

Oscar could not utter a word. He was speechless with astonishment.

“I thought you were poor,” he uttered, at last.

“I have had better luck than you thought.”

“I suppose you spent all your money for those clothes.”

“You are mistaken, Oscar. I am not so foolish. I left between two
and three thousand dollars in a New York bank, and I have more than
twice that in San Francisco.”

“It isn’t possible!” exclaimed Oscar, surprised and disappointed.

“Here is my bank-book; you can look at it,” and Joe pointed to a
deposit of twenty-five hundred dollars. “I don’t think, Oscar, it
will pay me to accept your father’s offer and take my old place.”

“I don’t understand it. How did you do it?” asked the bewildered
Oscar.

“I suppose it was my luck,” said Joe.

“Not wholly that,” said Annie Raymond. “It was luck and labor.”

“I accept the amendment, Miss Annie.”

Oscar’s manner changed at once. Joe, the successful Californian,
was very different from Joe, the hired boy. He became very
attentive to our hero, and before he left town condescended to
borrow twenty dollars of him, which he never remembered to repay.
He wanted to go back to California with Joe, but his father would
not consent.

When Joe returned to San Francisco, by advice of Mr. Morgan he sold
out his restaurant to Watson and took charge of Mr. Morgan’s real
estate business. He rose with the rising city, became a very rich
man, and now lives in a handsome residence on one of the hills that
overlook the bay. He has an excellent wife--our old friend, Annie
Raymond--and a fine family of children. His domestic happiness is
by no means the smallest part of Joe’s luck.


THE END