CONCLUSION.
There was little sleep that night in the cavern home of the
gold-seekers. The fact that the whole crop of the precious stuff was
the better part of a mile away in the mountains, even though apparently
safe, caused every one to feel uneasy. In addition was the announcement
of Jeff Graham, the leader, that their work in the Klondike region was
ended. In keeping with his habit of making known only that which was
necessary, he gave no explanation, and his friends were left to
speculate and surmise among themselves. All, however, suspected the
truth.
At early dawn Tim McCabe and the boys started up the trail, leading the
burro. The old miner remained behind, saying that he expected company
and his help was not needed in recovering the pilfered gold. The
anxiety of the men and boys did not lessen until they reached the
well-remembered spot and found the canvas bags intact. They were
carefully loaded upon the strong back of the animal, secured in place,
and the homeward journey begun. Frank and Roswell walked at the rear,
to make sure none of the gold was lost. In due time they reached their
primitive home, with all their wealth in hand.
To their surprise, Jeff was absent. The recent experience of the three
confirmed them in their resolution not to leave the nuggets and dust
unguarded for a single hour. While some were at work in the diggings,
one at least would be at the cavern on the watch against dishonest
visitors. It was agreed that Tim and Roswell should go to the little
valley to resume work, while Frank with the Winchester and smaller
weapon acted as sentinel.
As the two were on the point of setting out, Jeff Graham appeared with
two well-dressed gentlemen, both in middle life. They were talking
earnestly, and halted just beyond earshot to complete what they had to
say. Then, without waiting to be introduced to Jeff's friends, they
bade him good-day, and hurried down the path to where their horses were
waiting, and lost no time in returning to Dawson City.
"Get ready to foller," was the curt command of Jeff; and within the
following hour the whole party, including the donkey, were on the road.
They were compelled to spend one of the short nights in camp, but
reached Dawson City without the slightest molestation from any one or
the loss of a dollar's worth of gold. As Jeff had announced his
intention, they brought away only their auriferous harvest and such
clothing as was on their bodies. At the hotel he held another long
interview with the two gentlemen who had called on him at the diggings;
and the first steamer down the Yukon, which was now fairly open, bore
among its hundreds of passengers Jeff Graham, Tim McCabe, Roswell
Palmer, and Frank Mansley. The combined gold of the fortunate
passengers on that trip must have amounted to nearly a million dollars.
Some weeks later Jeff and Tim were seated alone in one of the rooms at
the Palace Hotel, San Francisco. They had met by appointment to close
up the business which had taken them into the Klondike region.
"You know, Tim," said the old miner, "that this whole thing was my
own."
Tim nodded his head.
"I was aware of the same before ye mentioned it. Ye paid all our
ixpenses like a gintleman, and we're entitled to fair wages for hilping
and no more."
The generous disavowal of all claim to a share in the rich find touched
Jeff, who hastened to say:
"Some folks might think that way, but I don't. It was a speculation on
my part. It didn't cost much to get us to the Klondike, and so that
don't count. I have delivered to the mint all the gold we brought back,
and have been paid one hundred and twenty thousand dollars for it. You
know what was done by the two men that visited us at the diggings?"
"The byes and mesilf had the idea that they bought out your claim."
"That's it. I was anxious to get out of the country before the summer
fairly set in and the mosquitoes ate us up alive. From the way the dirt
panned out, we should have been millionaires in a few weeks, but we had
enough. There ain't many men as know when they have enough," was the
philosophical observation of Jeff. "I do, so I sold my claim for a
hundred and eighty thousand dollars. As I figure out, that makes the
total three hundred thousand dollars, which, divided among us four,
gives each seventy-five thousand dollars. How does that strike you,
Tim?"
"It almost knocks me off my chair, if you mean it."
"The boys being under age, I have turned over their shares to their
parents; and do you know," added Jeff, with an expression of disgust,
"they both fixed things so as to go to college? You wouldn't believe
it, but it's the fact. Howsumever, it's their business, and I ain't
saying anything. Say, Tim, you hain't any idea of going to college?"
asked Jeff, looking across at his friend with a startled expression.
[Illustration: "SAY, TIM, YOU HAIN'T ANY IDEA OF GOING TO COLLEGE,
HAVE YOU?"]
"I won't unless ye will go wid me. How does that strike ye?"
Jeff's shoulders bobbed up and down with silent laughter, and
immediately he became serious again.
"As soon as you sign this paper, Tim, I shall give you a certified
check for seventy-five thousand dollars on the Bank of Californy. Are
you ready to sign?"
"I'll sign me own death warrant for that trifle," replied Tim, his rosy
face aglow, as he caught up the pen.
"Read it first."
His friend read:
"I, Timothy McCabe, hereby pledge my sacred honor not to taste a drop
of malt or spirituous liquor, even on the advice of a physician who may
declare it necessary to save my life, from the date of the signing of
this pledge until the Fourth of July, one thousand nine hundred and
seven."
As Tim gathered the meaning of the words on the paper, his eyes
expanded; he puckered his lips and emitted a low whistle.
"Do ye mind," he said, looking across the table with his old quizzical
expression, "the remark that the governor of North Carliny made to the
governor of South Carliny?"
Jeff gravely inclined his head.
"I've heerd of it."
"What do ye s'pose he would have said if the time between drinks was
ten years?"
"I've never thought, and don't care."
"He would have died long before the time was up."
"When you left the boys in the diggings you came to Dawson City to
spend the worth of that nugget for whiskey. I happened to meet you in
time and made you go back with me. You'd been off on sprees a half
dozen other times, if I hadn't kept an eye on you. Drink is the enemy
that will down you if you don't stop at once. If you'll stay sober for
ten years, I'll take the chances after that. Are you going to sign?"
Tim's eyes were fixed on the paper which he held in his hand. He mused
loud enough for the listening Jeff to catch every word:
"To sign that means no more headaches and bad health, but a clear brain
and a strong body; no more hours of gloom, no weakness of the limbs and
pricks of the conscience; no more breaking the heart of me good old
mother in Ireland, but the bringing of sunshine and joy to her in her
last days; it means the signing away of me slavery, and the clasping to
me heart of the swate boon of liberty; it means the making of mesilf
into a man!"
With a firm hand he wrote his name at the bottom of the paper, and
flinging down the pen, said:
"With God's help, that pledge shall be kept."
"Amen," reverently responded Jeff; "there's your check for seventy-five
thousand dollars."
THE END.