WHAT CAME OF IT.
“Yes, sir, I have lost my money,” repeated Brown, pulling out each of
his pockets in succession, to show that they were all empty. “I haven’t
got a red cent.”
“But it wasn’t in your pocket,” said Chase, as soon as he had recovered
from his surprise.
“Eh?” exclaimed Brown, his face assuming a genuine look of astonishment
now. “How do you know it wasn’t?”
“Because I saw you sitting by the fire last night, tying your money up
in your handkerchief,” replied Chase.
“Ah! I—eh? Yes; certainly you did, and that very move was what has
ruined me. Money, handkerchief and all are gone.”
Chase looked sharply at his companion. There was something about the
business that did not look just right. Brown didn’t act sorry enough.
“I say it is gone,” said the latter, as if Chase had disputed the
point. “What is to be done now? You’ll have to support us both, Hank.”
“But fifteen dollars will not buy us food until we reach Cheyenne,”
replied Chase.
“I know it; but it will have to last us as long as we can make it, and
then we must go to work. If we can find nothing to do, the only thing
left for us is to separate and let each fellow take care of himself.”
Again Chase looked closely at his friend. This was a new doctrine for
the latter to advocate. Heretofore, especially since he learned that
Chase expected assistance from home, Brown had laid great stress on the
fact that they were to remain together until they reached the States,
no matter what might happen; and if good fortune befell either of
them, the other was to share it. Chase had been glad to agree to it.
As matters stood when they left Independence, Brown had the advantage,
for not having been obliged to purchase any clothes or bedding, he had
been able to save every cent of his month’s wages, except what he had
expended for food. If the superintendent had mailed that letter, then
Chase would have carried the heavier purse, and he never would have
thought of deserting his companion.
“I never saw the like of this,” said Brown, looking down at the ground
and shaking his head.
“We’ll not give it up without trying to find it,” said Chase. “Let’s go
back.”
With a great show of eagerness Brown caught up his bundle and hurried
down the road, followed by Chase, who, however, did not make any effort
to find the money. He had found it already. He could have put his hand
upon it without stepping out of his tracks. The moment Brown turned his
back to him, he saw something sticking out from under the collar of his
shirt. It was the corner of a blue cotton handkerchief—the same one in
which Chase had seen him tying up his money the night before. The gold
was slung around Brown’s neck, under his shirt. Of that much Chase was
certain; but he was not quite so certain that he understood the motive
the man had in view in hiding it.
“I don’t think there is any need of going farther back,” said Brown,
pausing and looking dejectedly at Chase, after they had retraced their
steps for a short distance up the road; “do you?”
“No, I do not,” answered the boy. “We have travelled fast to-day, and
it is a long way back to the place where we camped last night. You had
the money then?”
“Yes, and I haven’t seen it since. Some fellow has got it safe enough
before this time.”
“I know it,” said Chase.
With one accord the two turned about and resumed their journey. Chase
wanted to think, but Brown was anxious to talk.
“What do you say to my proposition, Hank?” said he. “I don’t like to
leave you, but if we can’t get work together, ought not each one to
look out for himself?”
“Of course he ought.”
“But you won’t leave me in the lurch?” continued Brown. “You won’t go
back on me because I have no money?”
“I have just as much intention of deserting you as you have of serving
me that way,” replied Chase, earnestly.
“Give me your hand on that, my boy,” said Brown. “I knew you were true
blue, or I shouldn’t have stuck to you as long as I have.”
Brown, having, as he imagined, extorted a promise from his companion
that he would remain with him as long as his money held out, relapsed
into silence, and the boy was allowed leisure to follow out some plans
that had suggested themselves to him. In the first place, he wanted
to make sure that he was not mistaken in regard to the money; so he
watched his opportunity, and presently he and Brown bumped their
shoulders together with some violence, as people will sometimes do who
walk together without keeping step. The result was positive proof that
Brown had not lost his money, for Chase heard the gold pieces jingle as
plainly as he could hear the sound of his own footsteps. Brown heard
it, too, and glanced quickly into Chase’s face; but seeing nothing
there to excite his suspicions, he said nothing, but simply moved
farther away so that the experiment could not be repeated.
“The money is tied up in his handkerchief, just as I supposed it was,”
soliloquized Chase. “I think I begin to see into the matter a little.
We have just fifty-five dollars between us—I have fifteen and he owns
the balance,—and that must last us during a tramp of nearly four
hundred miles. He thinks that forty dollars will furnish food for one
man longer than fifty-five will for two. He intends to live off my
money without touching his own, and when I am strapped, he is going to
run away from me; and he’ll have his forty dollars left to support him
during the rest of his journey. It is enough for one, but I am a good
deal of his opinion that it is not enough for two. Now, fifteen dollars
will keep me alone in food longer than it will both of us, so if you
please, Mr. Brown, _I’ll_ do the running away myself. If I must travel
on my own hook, I’ll do it while I have money in my pocket.”
Chase had hit the nail squarely on the head. He had told Brown’s plans
in detail as well as Brown could have told them himself. The truth of
the matter was, that the man was too homesick to be either honest or
truthful. He was determined to work his way back to Indiana by some
means, no matter who might suffer by it.
“I have half a mind to tell him that I know what he is about,” thought
Chase. “The coward, to want to desert me when I offered to give him
half the money I expected to receive from father! I say, Brown!”
When the boy had said this much, prudence stepped in, and he paused. If
he excited Brown’s anger, the latter might take his money away from him
by force, and then he would be in a predicament indeed.
“Well, what is it?” asked Brown. “Bad business, ain’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” replied Chase. “How long do you suppose my fifteen
dollars will last us?”
“We must make it hold out as long as we possibly can, even if we eat
but one full meal a day. But there is no use in looking so down-hearted
over it. We’ll work through somehow.”
Brown broke out into a song, to show how lightly the matter sat on
his own mind, and Chase once more went off into a reverie. During the
rest of the day he had little to say, and when night came he made
preparations to slip away from his companion; but no opportunity
offered itself. Did Brown suspect his designs? He certainly acted as if
he did, for he kept a sharp eye on Chase all the time. If the latter
moved during the night, Brown turned over and looked at him.
For the three following days and nights Chase lived under a sort
of surveillance that was galling to him, and during that time the
provisions they had brought with them from Independence were exhausted,
and two of Chase’s fifteen dollars were spent at Salt Lake City, to
replenish their store. On the fourth night they encamped near a party
of teamsters. Brown being weary with the day’s journey remained at the
fire, while Chase started out to pay a visit to their neighbors. They
were glad to see him, offered him some of their supper, and, of course,
wanted to know where he was going and what he intended to do when he
got there. Chase answered all their questions, and in accordance with
his usual custom, made inquiries concerning the route to Cheyenne.
The teamsters being perfectly familiar with the road gave him all the
information he asked, and then one of them said:
“If you only knew it, you are going miles out of your way by going to
Cheyenne. Why don’t you take the other trail?”
“Where is it?” asked Chase.
“About a quarter of a mile below here. It is the first road that turns
to your right. You can’t miss it, for there is a big dead oak hanging
over it. You’ll save at least a hundred miles of hard walking by taking
that route, and you’ll strike the prairie either at Bolton or Reynolds.
When you get there, you will be just as near the States as you will be
at Cheyenne.”
“Any chance of losing my way?”
“Not if you keep your eyes open and use your tongue.”
“What can I find to eat?”
“Just as much as you can by this route. You’ll meet a team or a train
every day.”
“Any grizzly bears or other ferocious animals on the way?”
“No more than there are on this. There’s plenty of grouse, and if you
get hard up for grub, you can snare and cook enough in a day to last
you a week. I was lost down in there once, years ago, when the trail
wasn’t as well travelled as it is now, and, although I had nothing but
a pocket-knife with me, I lived on the fat of the land and had a good
time besides.”
The teamster then went on to relate the particulars of his adventure,
which did not have much interest for Chase, for he was thinking of
something else. When the story was finished, he bade his entertainers
good-night, and slowly returned to his own camp. Now was the time, he
told himself, to put his plans into execution. A lonely journey through
the mountains was not a pleasant thing to look forward to, but it was
better than remaining in company with a man who intended to live off
him as long as his money held out, and then desert him. He would take
his bundle and start off on his own hook that very night.
Having come to this determination, Chase made the best of his way
back to his camp, walking with noiseless footsteps, so as not to
disturb Brown, who, he supposed, must be asleep by this time. But his
precaution proved to be useless, for Brown was wide awake and waiting
for him. “I thought you were never coming back,” said he, with some
impatience.
“Those fellows down there had some very interesting stories to tell,”
replied Chase. “Say, Brown, would you sell your pack for ten dollars,
if you were me?”
“Ten dollars!” exclaimed Brown, raising himself on his elbow, “I guess
I would. That would buy lots of bacon and biscuit.”
“I could use one of your blankets at night, couldn’t I?” added Chase.
“Of course you can, as long as we remain together.”
“Then that settles it.”
As Chase said this, he caught up his bundle and hurried down the
road again, while Brown lay back in his blanket to await his return,
laughing to himself when he thought how nicely he was taking care of
himself at the expense of his confiding friend. He waited an hour, but
Chase did not return; still another, and then he got up and walked down
the road. When he came within sight of the camp of the teamsters he saw
that the fire was burning brightly, but the men themselves were wrapped
up in their blankets, sleeping soundly. Nothing more being needed to
convince him that a very neat trick had been played upon him, Brown
turned and walked back to his own fire.
Meanwhile Chase was hurrying along the old trail to which the teamster
had directed him. He had no difficulty in finding it, for the dead oak
tree pointed out its location. It was very dark and gloomy in there,
for the mountains on both sides were thickly covered with trees, and
the rays of the moon could scarcely penetrate through the dense shade
which they threw over the road. The road itself, however, showed very
plainly through the darkness, and Chase had no difficulty in following
it. He travelled with all the speed of which he was capable until too
tired to go farther; and then building a fire beside the road, he lay
down near it and slept until morning.
Ere many days had passed away Chase found that he could get on just
as well without Brown as he had done with him. He met any number
of teamsters and emigrants, who willingly answered his questions
concerning the route before him, and if he happened on a camp during
the dinner or supper hour, he was cordially invited to “stop and take
a bite.” Of course he was always obliged to tell his story to those
whose hospitality he shared, and when he departed, he was invariably
provided with all the cooked provisions he was willing to carry in
addition to his bundle, and they never cost him a cent. At that rate
his thirteen dollars would last him until he reached home. Of course,
too, the journey grew more and more monotonous and wearisome as the
days passed, and, worse than all, the thick, strong shoes he had
purchased before leaving Independence, began to show signs of wear.
But just as they were ready to drop to pieces, he met a kind-hearted
emigrant, who gave him a pair of old boots, which, although much too
large for him, served to keep his feet off the hard, rocky road. It
was getting colder, too, every day; the leaves were falling from the
trees, the wind whistled dismally through the gorges, the teams and
wagon-trains were not as often met as at first, and everything told
Chase that winter was fast approaching. “You’d better toddle along
right peert,” said one of the teamsters to him. “Bolton, which is
the nighest station, is two hundred and fifty miles away yet, and
we’re going to ketch it in a few days. When she does come she’ll be
a snorter. You’ve got a good stretch of prairie to cross after you
leave the foot-hills, and you don’t want to get ketched out there in a
snow-storm. Look out for that.”
Chase gave heed to the friendly warning, and made headway as rapidly as
possible. “Two hundred and fifty miles,” he kept saying to himself. His
journey was not half completed, and it seemed to him that he had been
an age on the road. Would he ever reach Bolton? Sometimes he was almost
ready to give up trying, and lie down in the road and wait until the
snows of winter came and covered him up. Then recollections of home and
friends would come thronging upon him, and he would press forward with
renewed energy, in spite of blistered feet and weary, aching limbs,
which sometimes almost refused to sustain him. He was up before the
sun, and continued his journey until long after dark. His situation at
best was bad enough, but one night he met with an adventure that made
it infinitely worse.
As he was hurrying along after dark, he came suddenly upon a
camp-fire. He was glad to see it, for he had not met a human being
for the last three days, and the provisions that had been furnished
him by the last teamster were all exhausted. He hoped to procure a
fresh supply at this camp. If he could not, he would be obliged to
spend a day or two in trapping grouse; and he was so very much afraid
of the snow-storm which had been so often predicted, that he did not
dare to waste a single hour. Furthermore, the road of late had been
growing very rough and rocky, and he could no longer see the prints
of wagon-wheels. He began to fear that while travelling in the dark,
he had lost his way. Perhaps these people could set him right. He
walked boldly up to the fire and greeted the men sitting there—two
rough-looking fellows, whom he at once put down as hunters.
“Good evening, strangers,” said he.
“Wal, what do you want?” growled one of the men, after they had both
given him a good looking over.
“Will you give me some supper and permission to sleep by your fire?”
asked Chase, rather doubtfully. This was the first time during his
fifteen days in the mountains that any one had spoken to him so roughly.
“I don’t reckon we’ve got any more grub nor we want ourselves,” was the
surly response.
“O, I don’t ask you to give it to me,” said Chase. “I am able and
willing to pay for it.”
“You got any shiners?” asked the hunter, running his eyes over the
boy’s clothes.
“I know I don’t look like it, but I can prove my words. See there,”
said Chase, putting his hand into his pocket and drawing out several
gold and silver pieces.
“How many of them you got?”
“Thirteen dollars’ worth. Can you give me something to eat now?”
“I reckon we mought,” said the man, pointing to a haunch of venison
that hung upon a tree close by.
Having become accustomed to the ways of the world, Chase understood the
invitation thus given. He took down the joint, cut off a couple of
generous slices with his knife, and holding them over the flames with
two sticks, looked about him with some satisfaction. His supper was
secure; he had a warm fire to sleep by, and that was something on which
to congratulate himself.
The men were hunters or trappers, sure enough, Chase told himself, and
as they were the first of their calling he had ever seen, he looked at
them with as much curiosity as the Sportsman’s Club had looked at Parks
and Reed, when those worthies first came into their camp. They wore
buckskin coats and moccasins, were armed with rifles, and there were
two bundles of furs, principally otter and beaver-skins, near the fire.
They had no blankets, but each had a saddle for a pillow, and their
horses were picketed on the other side of the road. In answer to an
inquiry from Chase, they told him, rather gruffly, that they had been
hunting in the mountains, and were on their way to some fort to dispose
of their plunder. They did not seem inclined to talk. They smoked their
pipes and watched the boy while he ate his supper, growled out a reply
in the affirmative when he asked if he was on the road to Fort Bolton,
but paid no attention to the pleasant good-night he wished them as he
rolled himself up in his blankets preparatory to going to sleep.
That was the last comfortable night that Chase passed for more than a
week.