ON TO THE GOLDEN GATE.
“Then you have really prospered?” said Mr. Gilbert.
“Yes, sir; we must have as much as seven hundred dollars more, but this
was as much as Grant could conveniently carry. We depend on his shabby
attire to save him from attracting the attention of robbers.”
“You will remain at the claim?” said Mr. Gilbert, addressing himself to
Tom.
“Yes, I shall continue to work it. Grant is summoned to San Francisco by
a friend whose acquaintance he made in crossing the plains.”
They stopped an hour to chat with the old man, and then, resuming their
march, reached Howe’s Gulch in time for supper.
They were immediately surrounded by old acquaintances.
“Where are you bound, Tom?” asked one.
“Grant is going to San Francisco. He has an offer of employment from a
rich man there.”
“Won’t you join us again?”
“No; I have a claim some way from here which will bear working a little
longer.”
“The boy doesn’t look as if you had struck luck.”
“He will be all right when he reaches San Francisco.”
“How about yourself?”
“Oh, well, I am not discouraged. There are better times in store.”
One of the crowd was Nahum Stockton, to whom Grant and Tom had given
their claims when they left Howe’s Gulch.
“Look here, Cooper,” he said. “You did me a good turn. I’ve done pretty
well with the claim you gave me, and I want to show my gratitude. If
fifty dollars will do you or the boy any good, I will let you have it.”
Tom Cooper wrung his hand cordially.
“You’re a good fellow, Stockton,” he said, “but we are not in want. I am
glad you have done fairly well, but we don’t stand in need of help at
present. If we ever do, we won’t forget your kind offer.”
“That’s right. You shall be heartily welcome to anything I have.”
The two partners went to the hotel and stayed overnight. They were
pleased to think that no one suspected them of having been fortunate.
There were some friends—Nahum Stockton, for instance—to whom they would
have been willing to communicate it, but they considered it advisable,
on the whole, to keep the matter a profound secret.
The next morning Grant took the stage for Sacramento, and arrived there
without any exciting adventure.
“Go and see father and mother, Grant,” said Tom. “Don’t tell them too
much, but let them know that I am making a living, and have no cause to
complain.”
Mr. Cooper had just finished shoeing a horse, when Grant walked up to
the shop.
“Why, Grant Colburn!” exclaimed the blacksmith, “it’s good to see you.
But—” and here he surveyed Grant’s attire—“you look kind of seedy, don’t
you?”
“Yes,” laughed Grant; “but there are no good tailors’ shops where I have
been working.”
“Have you come to Sacramento to work?”
“No. I am bound for San Francisco. Mr. Crosmont has sent for me.”
“How did you leave Tom?” asked Mrs. Cooper, who had entered the shop, as
she shook hands with Grant.
“Well and hearty, Mrs. Cooper.”
“Why didn’t he come with you?”
“Mr. Crosmont didn’t send for him.”
“How is he doing?”
“Well, he isn’t exactly a millionnaire yet,” answered Grant, with a
laugh.
“I’m afraid not, if we’re to judge by appearances,” and Mr. Cooper shook
his head, as he bestowed another glance on Grant’s outfit. “He’d much
better give up this notion of gold-digging and come back here in the
shop with me.”
“But at mining you may strike it rich any day, you know,” returned Grant
cheerfully. “Tom has really reason to feel encouraged, and may surprise
you by making his fortune yet.”
“Those aint the kind of surprises that grow on every bush,” and Mr.
Cooper once more sagely shook his head.
After accepting of the hospitality of the kindly blacksmith and his
wife, Grant proceeded on his journey.
He was lucky enough to secure the only remaining seat in the next coach
for San Francisco, and was soon started on the last stage of his
progress toward the Golden Gate. Of his fellow passengers two were
miners, two farmers, one a school-teacher, another a boy of about
Grant’s age, and the seventh a black-eyed gentleman, who listened
attentively to all that was said, but made very few remarks himself.
Grant was glad to find his place next to the youngest member of the
party, who gave his name as Robert Campbell, and stated that he had been
on a visit to a relative in Sacramento.
“I trust we don’t fall in with the road agents,” remarked one of the
miners, soon after they had got under way.
“Why, do you think there is any danger of it?” inquired the
school-teacher anxiously.
“Well, that’s one of the things we may expect on such a trip as we are
taking,” returned the miner, adding: “I’d much prefer they wouldn’t make
me hold up my hands this time, however.”