A TRAGEDY.
I have said that the passengers were astonished at discovering that the
notorious road agent was their fellow-traveller. There were two,
however, who were not wholly surprised—the miner who had related his
cousin’s story and the farmer who had had a sharp colloquy with the
black-eyed man.
For a minute no one moved or spoke.
“Come,” said Dike impatiently; “I have no time to waste. Give me your
money.”
“Do you want mine?” asked Grant, who was entirely willing to give up the
small amount of gold coin he had with him, if he could save the dust in
his valise.
“No; I don’t care for the trifle you have, nor the other boy’s money,
but those miners over there must give up their treasure, and my
agricultural friends also.”
“If you want my money, come and get it!” growled the miner already
referred to.
“I say the same,” added the farmer.
“I will stand no nonsense,” said Stephen Dike.
“It’s hard luck,” grumbled the miner, “to give up all my hard earnings.”
“Give up your money, and grumble afterward,” rejoined Dike.
The miner thrust his hand into his pocket, and then, in an excited
voice, exclaimed suddenly, as he peered out of the coach, “Ha, friends!
there is help approaching. See!” And he pointed, with outstretched
finger, beyond Stephen Dike.
The road agent, taken by surprise, turned quickly. The step was fatal to
him. The miner, who had pulled a revolver from his pocket, fired without
an instant’s delay, and Stephen Dike fell backward, instantly killed.
The miner’s bullet had penetrated his temple. So unexpected was the
assault that the road agent had not even time to discharge his own
pistols. They fell upon the ground from his nerveless hands, and one of
them accidentally went off, but did no harm.
[Illustration: THE ROAD AGENT MEETS HIS MATCH.]
“My cousin is avenged!” exclaimed the miner grimly.
“Give me your hand, sir!” said the farmer. “You have saved us all, and
rid the State of California of the most dangerous outlaw within its
limits.”
“It seems hard to rejoice in the death of a fellow-being,” observed the
teacher, “but no one can grieve over the taking off of such a man.
Gentlemen, let us remove the body to some place less public.”
The passengers got out, and were joined by the driver.
“There is a reward of five thousand dollars offered by the authorities
for the capture of Stephen Dike, dead or alive,” he said. “What
gentleman killed him?”
“I did,” answered the miner; “but I want no reward. I should look upon
it as blood money. What I did, I did in defence of my fellow-passengers
and myself.”
Stephen Dike lay upon the ground, his features still wearing the cynical
smile habitual to him. Death had come upon him so suddenly that there
had not been time even to change the expression of his face.
“I suppose this man has committed many robberies?” said the teacher to
the stage-driver.
“No one knows how many, but he has robbed my stage four times.”
“How did it happen that you did not recognize him when he booked as a
passenger?”
“He has always worn a mask when I saw him before. This time he became
bolder, and presented himself without disguise. I remember being struck
by his appearance, and wondering whether I had not met him before, but
it did not occur to me that it was the famous road agent, Stephen Dike.”
The passengers took the lifeless body, and drew it to one side of the
road.
“Ought we not to bury it?” asked the teacher.
“I can’t bear to put beneath the sod a man who, but fifteen minutes
since, was as full of life as we are. Let us leave that office to some
one else. We can affix to the tree, beneath which he lies, a paper
giving his name.”
This proposal was approved. One of the passengers produced a sheet of
paper and a travelling inkstand, and this placard was affixed to the
trunk of the tree:
This man is
_STEPHEN DIKE_,
THE ROAD AGENT.
Killed while attempting to rob the Sacramento coach.
“We ought, perhaps, to examine his pockets, and see if we can find
anything to throw light on his career.”
This was the suggestion of one of the passengers.
“No,” said the miner; “leave that to the persons who may find him. If he
has money about him, leave it to others. I have been the instrument of
Heaven’s retribution. Should I take anything of value from him, I would
be degraded to his own level.”
This remark seemed to voice the general sentiment, and, after an
interval of only ten minutes, the stage was again on its way to San
Francisco.
Grant and Robert were strongly impressed by what had happened. Neither
of them had ever seen a death by violence before.
“It’s awful!” said Robert, shuddering.
“But he deserved his fate,” returned Grant.
“So he did; but it is terrible to have death come so suddenly.”
“You are right, lad!” said the miner. “I feel entirely justified in what
I did, but it was a fearful necessity. It is something I shall never be
able to forget.”
There was no further adventure to record in the two days’ ride. Toward
nightfall of the second day they reached the city of the Golden Gate,
and the passengers separated. Grant regretted parting with Robert
Campbell, to whom he had become warmly attached, but was glad to think
they would have opportunities of meeting in San Francisco.
Before separating, he undeceived Robert as to his circumstances.
“I suppose,” he said, “you think me very poor?”
“I wouldn’t judge from your clothes that you were wealthy,” returned
Robert, smiling.
“That’s why I wear them. In this valise which I carry, I have about
fifteen hundred dollars in gold-dust.”
“You don’t mean it!” exclaimed Robert in surprise.
“Yes; but only half of it belongs to me. I have more at the mines,
however. I feared to be robbed, and so put on the appearance of a tramp.
Now, I shall buy a respectable suit.”
“I am glad you are able to do so; but even in your poor clothes I was
glad to have met you.”
“Thank you, Rob. We have known each other but two days, but I shall
always look upon you as a friend.”
The two boys shook hands cordially, and Grant set out in the direction
of the Alameda Hotel. Before he arrived there, he saw Mr. Crosmont
walking thoughtfully through Kearney Street, with his eyes fixed upon
the ground.
“Mr. Crosmont!” he exclaimed eagerly.
Giles Crosmont looked up quickly, and his face brightened as he
recognized Grant.
“Grant Colburn!” he cried joyfully, seizing the boy by the hand. “I am,
indeed, glad to see you. When did you arrive?”
“Just now, by stage from Sacramento.”
“And you are well? But I see you are. You don’t look prosperous; but
that doesn’t matter. With me you will want for nothing.”
“Mr. Crosmont,” said Grant smiling, “you shouldn’t judge a man, or boy,
by his clothes. Do you see this valise?”
“Well?”
“It contains fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of gold-dust.”
“Yours?”
“Half of it is mine. Half of it belongs to my partner. I wore old
clothes, because I did not want to be thought rich.”
“Was there need of all this caution?”
“You shall judge for yourself. Our stage was held up by Stephen Dike.”
“The daring road agent? I have heard of him. Did he plunder the
passengers?”
Grant explained the ruse by which Stephen Dike had lost his life.
“He was a scoundrel! I have no pity for him. And now come with me, and I
will take you to my home. I have two rooms, and I shall install you in
one of them.”
“How about my gold-dust?”
“As soon as you have washed, and are provided with a new suit, I will
take you to a banker, who will weigh and allow you the market price for
it.”
“But I shall have no money to pay for the suit till I have sold the
dust.”
Mr. Crosmont smiled.
“The suit will be a present from me,” he said.
And no small present it proved to be, for clothing was very dear in San
Francisco at that time, so that a ready-made suit, which could be bought
in any Eastern city for twenty dollars, or less, cost ninety.
The gold-dust brought a trifle over fifteen hundred dollars, which was
entered to Grant’s account on the books of the bank.
“Have you any letters for me, Mr. Crosmont?” asked Grant. “I haven’t
heard from home for a long time.”
“Here is a letter which arrived by the last steamer.”
Grant read it eagerly. It was from his mother, and contained important
news. Instead of reproducing the letter, we will go back to Grant’s Iowa
home, and let the reader know what happened there since he started for
the land of gold.