GRANT HAS AN ADVENTURE.
“Shall we take supper at the hotel?” asked Grant. “How much do they
charge?”
“Two dollars a day for meals and lodging.”
“Isn’t that considerable?” asked Grant, rather dismayed.
“Yes, if one only earns fifty cents,” answered Tom, smiling.
“Do you like sleeping in such a crowd, Tom?”
“No; but there seems no other way, unless I bought a cabin, and I should
feel too lonely.”
“But now there are two of us together. Why can’t we hire a cabin, and
lodge and eat independently? We can take turns in doing the cooking, and
it will be a good deal cheaper.”
“Do you know anything about cooking, Grant? I don’t.”
“Yes; I took some lessons at the restaurant. I can teach you all I know
myself.”
“Then we can establish ourselves to-morrow. There is a deserted cabin a
little way up the gulch, which no one seems to care to occupy. It is in
fair condition, and the last occupant kept house, so that there are
dishes and cooking utensils. We can take possession, and then, if any
one disputes our right, we can agree to pay rent.”
“That will be capital,” said Grant, in a tone of satisfaction.
For a month Grant and Tom Cooper worked assiduously, sometimes at one
claim, sometimes at the other. The life of a miner is full of
excitement. Even when he meets with poor luck, there is the prospect
every day of making a rich find. But in the case of the two friends it
was always hope deferred. At the end of the month they sat down to
consider the situation.
“Well, Grant, we don’t seem to get much richer,” said Tom, taking a
whiff from a clay pipe, which was his evening luxury after a hard day’s
work.
“We made fifty cents yesterday,” responded Grant soberly.
“Between us. That is twenty-five cents each.”
“On the whole, we have been losing ground during the last month. I am
twenty dollars poorer than when I came here.”
“And I have fallen behind as much, or more than that.”
“Digging for gold isn’t what I thought it to be,” said Grant. “I was
doing a good deal better in Sacramento.”
“That maybe; but we mustn’t forget that a man does strike luck once in a
while.”
“It won’t do us any good to have some other man strike luck.”
“I see you are getting down-hearted, Grant.”
“Well, not exactly; but I think I’ve made a mistake. Neither of our
claims amounts to much.”
“What do you propose, then?”
“I have nothing to propose,” said Grant modestly. “You are older and
more experienced than I. I will follow your plan.”
“Then let us work three days longer. If, at the end of that time,
nothing turns up, we will pull up stakes, and go elsewhere. We can’t
afford to go on working and falling behind all the time.”
“Three days then, Tom.”
“You haven’t had any luck yet, Grant. I had a share before you came.”
“I am afraid my coming brought you bad luck.”
“Bad luck or not, I am glad to have you here. After a hard day’s work it
seems pleasant to have some one to talk to.”
“If I should leave you, how would Silverthorn do?” asked Grant, smiling.
“Poor company is worse than none. I’d rather hustle by myself than have
that man ’round.”
The next morning the two partners went to work as usual. They always
started hopeful of good results, but, as the day wore away and results
were meager, their hopes began to sink. That day they cleared between
them a dollar and a half, while their expenses, at a modest calculation,
so high were provisions, were nearly double this sum.
“Another day lost!” commented Tom as they sat over their evening fire,
for it was beginning to grow cold at the close of the day.
“We won’t say anything about it,” said Grant. “Let the three days pass,
and then we will consult.”
About the middle of the next afternoon Grant was attacked by a violent
headache.
“I shall have to close up work for the day, Tom,” he said.
“Go to the cabin and lie down,” suggested Tom.
“I would rather go on a walk. The fresh air may do me good.”
Grant dipped his handkerchief in the stream, bathed his forehead, and
then set out on a stroll to the south of the claims. Finding relief, he
pushed on till he had probably walked a couple of miles.
It was a lonely stretch of country, and, with the exception of a boy, he
met no one. His surprise was the greater, therefore, when at one point
he heard a groan, evidently proceeding from some one in pain. He looked
about him, and finally discovered an old man lying under a tree, doubled
up with pain. It was hard to tell his age, for his appearance was
neglected, and he had the air of one who lived apart from his fellow
men.
“What is the matter?” asked Grant, in a tone of sympathy. “Can I help
you?”
“I am suffering from an attack of rheumatism,” answered the old man. “It
came upon me suddenly, and has disabled me, as you see.”
“What can I do for you?”
“If you can help me to my cabin it will be a great service.”
“Where is your cabin?”
“In the edge of yonder woods.”
He pointed feebly, and Grant, following the direction, espied a small
hut, brown and discolored with age, standing under the shadow of a rock
about a quarter of a mile away.
He helped the old man to his feet, and half supported him as he walked
toward the cabin.
“Are you often seized in this way?” he asked.
“Not often so suddenly and violently, though I have been in the grip of
my enemy for years.”
[Illustration: GRANT AND THE SICK MINER.]