BILL CRANE'S DISAGREEABLE DISCOVERY.
It was five o'clock in the morning when Bill Crane opened his eyes. He
felt refreshed by his night's sleep, yet under ordinary circumstances
would have deferred getting up for at least an hour. But the
consciousness that he had a treasure to guard, and the knowledge that he
was at any moment liable to be called to account by the real owner,
whose camp was scarcely more than a mile distant, aroused him to
exertion.
"I must get away while John Miles is still asleep," he bethought
himself. "Let me get to Frisco first, and I can at once dispose of it,
and he will never find me out."
Crane did not wait to prepare breakfast. That he could take on the road
an hour or two later, when he felt safe from interruption. He rose and
shook himself. This was his scanty toilet. Next he must take the bag
from its place of concealment, and then he could commence his journey.
While uncovering the bag, Crane did not discover that it had been
tampered with, partly because it was still there. It was natural to
suppose that, if discovered by a third party, it would be carried away.
He did not even open the bag, not thinking it necessary.
"John Miles hasn't waked up yet," he said to himself with a smile. "When
he does, there'll be some swearing, I'll be bound. You're a good boy,
John Miles, but you ain't so smart as you think you are. I think I have
got the start of you this time."
Bill Crane rode off smiling.
His course led him by the camp of the Chinamen. Early as it was they
were astir. Ah Sin saw the rider, and at once recognized him as the man
he had robbed. How could Crane know that those pleasant-faced barbarians
had served him such a trick?
"Hallo, Chinamen!" he said aloud. "Have they got out here already? I'll
speak to them. Hallo, John!" he said, halting his horse, for even then
every Chinaman was John.
"How do, John?" replied Ah Sin, smiling blandly.
"My name isn't John, but no matter. What are you two doing?"
"Looking for gold," was the reply.
"Do you find any?"
"Velly little. Bad place."
"Have you been in San Francisco?"
"Yes, John."
"Why didn't you stay there?"
"Too many Chinamen--too little washee,--washee."
"What have you got in the way of provisions? Mine are stale. I'd like to
buy some of you."
"We have got a little lice, John."
"Got a little what? Oh, I know: you mean rice. Why don't you pronounce
your English better?"
"Because Chinamen not 'Melican men."
"Then I suppose I may as well be moving on, as I can't get anything out
of you. Oh, have you got any tea, John?"
"Yes, John."
"Got any made?"
Ah Sin produced a cup, for he and his friend had just prepared their
breakfast, and being warm, Bill Crane gulped it down with a relish.
"After all, a man needs some warm drink in the morning," he said to
himself. "How much to pay, John?"
"Nothing, John. 'Melican man welcome."
"John, you're a gentleman, or rather both of you are gentlemen, even if
you are heathens. I'll remember you in my prayers."
The eminent Christian, Bill Crane, rode off from the Chinese camp,
calmly confident of his moral superiority to the two benighted heathen
whom he left behind him. Whether he remembered his promise to intercede
for them in prayer is a little doubtful, or would have been, if he had
had occasion to pray himself. It is to be feared that prayer and William
Crane had long been strangers.
As Crane rode away, the two Chinamen exchanged glances. A gentle smile
lighted up their yellow faces, and they were doubtless thinking of
something pleasant. They exchanged a few guttural remarks which I should
like to be able to translate, for they doubtless referred to Bill Crane,
whom they had kindly supplied with a cup of tea gratis. Yet, perhaps,
considering all things, it was the dearest cup of tea Crane had ever
drank, since it was the only return he got for a bag of gold-dust worth
over two hundred dollars. But there is an old saying, "Where ignorance
is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise." Crane was just as happy as if the bag
really contained gold-dust. But this happy ignorance was not to last
long.
After riding five or six miles our traveller thought he might venture to
dismount for rest and refreshment. He selected as his breakfast-table
the green sward beside a sparkling mountain streamlet. He dismounted,
permitting his horse to graze while he took out the stale provisions
which must constitute his morning meal. They were not very palatable,
and Crane sighed for the breakfasts of old, the memory of which at this
moment was very tantalizing. But he comforted himself with the thought
that he had the means of making up for his enforced self-denial when he
reached San Francisco.
This naturally led him to open the bag, and feast his eyes over his
easily obtained wealth. He untied the string, and with a smile of
pleased anticipation peered at the contents.
His face changed suddenly.
Was he dreaming? In place of the shining dust, his eyes rested on--sand.
He hastily thrust in his finger, and stirred the grains. But nothing
else was to be discovered. The bag contained nothing but worthless sand.
Crane stared at the deceptive bag in the most lugubrious astonishment.
Surely the bag contained gold-dust when he concealed it. There could be
no doubt on that point, for he had opened it and seen the contents for
himself. But in that case, how could such a change have been effected in
one night? It had not been touched; so, at any rate, he believed. He had
found it in the morning in the exact spot where he had placed it
overnight, and yet--
Bill Crane took another look at the contents of the bag, hoping that he
had been deceived by some ocular delusion, but the second examination
brought him no comfort. He sank back, feeling in a state of mental and
bodily collapse.
Never was poor thief so utterly bewildered as Bill Crane. He could
almost believe that some magical transformation had been practiced at
his expense. Was it possible, he thought, that John Miles, discovering
his loss, had visited him, and played this trick upon him? He could not
believe this. It was not in accordance with John's direct,
straightforward nature. Instead of acting in this secret manner, he
would have sternly charged Crane with the robbery, and punished him on
the spot. Leaving him out of the account, then, the mystery deepened. It
never occurred to Crane to suspect the Chinamen who had so hospitably
furnished him with a cup of tea. Even if they had come into his mind, he
would have been puzzled to account for their knowledge of his having the
bag in his possession.
Bill Crane was decidedly unhappy. His glowing anticipations of
prosperity, based upon the capital contained in the bag, were rudely
broken in upon, and the airy fabric of his hopes dashed to the ground.
He felt that fortune had been unkind--that he was a deeply injured man.
Had his claim to the stolen property been the best possible, he could
not have felt the injustice of fate more keenly.
"It's always the way!" he exclaimed in deep dejection. "I always was
unlucky. Just as I thought I was on my feet again, this cursed gold-dust
turns to sand. Here am I out in the wilderness without an ounce to my
name. I don't know what to do. I'd give a good deal, if I had it, to
find out what became of the gold-dust."
As he spoke, Crane, in a fit of ill-temper, kicked the unlucky bag to a
distance, and slowly and disconsolately mounting his horse, plodded on
his way. All his cheerfulness was gone. It was some comfort, but still
scant, to think that John Miles was as unlucky as himself. Both had
become penniless tramps, and were alike the sport of Fortune. There was
a difference in respect to their desert, however. John Miles may
rightly claim the reader's sympathy, while Bill Crane must be considered
to have met with a disaster which he richly deserved.