those sacks?"
"No, sir!" returned Mr. Adams, decidedly. "There'll be no such
performance. I shall put those sacks and their contents, just as they
are, on deposit with the bank or other authorities, subject to the
heirs. They're neither mine nor yours."
"He gave them to me, anyway," blurted Charley, angrily, to the man.
"There's $1000. And he----"
"Charley, be quiet," ordered his father, sternly. "It doesn't concern
us how much there is, or what he did. He wasn't in his right mind."
"What else did he do, bub?" queried the man.
But Charley held his tongue.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," continued Mr. Adams, severely,
to the long-nosed man, "trying to take the hard-earned gains of a poor
fellow who probably has left a needy family somewhere, and was going
back to them! If you think we'll be partners with you, you're highly
mistaken. Understand? I've never yet taken advantage of anybody in
misfortune, and I've never yet robbed a guest, most of all a dead man.
Now you'll oblige me by clearing out."
The long-nosed man sneered.
"Oh, yes," he said. "I see. You've got the swag, and no doubt he's
told you about some mine, and you count on getting that, too! But your
high and mighty virtue doesn't down, with me. My name's Jacobs: Jasper
Jacobs. I've lived on the frontier. I'm half wild hoss and half
Mississippi alligator; and I'm a bad man to cross. I'm going to watch
you, and when this swag comes to light again I'll have my share. See?
Put that in your pipe and smoke it."
"Look here, sir," answered Mr. Adams, standing straight and tall--and
Charley never could have believed that his father could seem so fierce,
except in battle. "I'm a soldier, and I've faced worse dangers than
you can threaten. Clear out, or I'll throw you out. You're insulting
me, and you're desecrating that unfortunate lying there. Now go!"
The long-nosed man actually shrank. But as he retreated he still
blustered, "I'm not done with you. I'll watch you. Remember, I'm on
your trail. This matter hasn't ended." And he slammed the door as he
went outside.
"Ha!" uttered Mr. Adams, and his face calmed. "So much for him. Now
we'll do just as I said, Charley; and your mother'll approve. We'll
deposit the sacks and any other valuables, with the bank, after we've
told the coroner; and we'll advertise for heirs. We'll use only enough
of the funds to pay the doctor, and other expenses. By the way, did
the poor fellow say anything else? Give any directions of any kind?"
"No, sir. He just called for paper and pencil and tried to write and
couldn't, and then had me write for him, and all he signed was 'Tom.'"
"That's very indefinite. If only he had finished his name, we'd have
had some clue. But the map's no good to us, in such shape. Besides,
we wouldn't think of touching money or mine, as long as there's a
single chance of the rightful claimants turning up."
Charley's mother entered. She agreed that this was right; and Charley,
although a little disappointed, could not help but agree, too. They
pored over the diary and map, but had to give up, and put them away.
They told only Doctor Paulis and the coroner.
However, although they advertised at once in the papers, for the
unknown's relatives (referring claimants to a lawyer's office), nobody
turned up who proved to be a genuine heir. After the funeral expenses
were paid, there were over $800 left, lying in the bank. The
long-nosed man, Mr. Jacobs, was unable to get at this, but he bothered
the Adamses considerably by hanging about, and whenever he met Charley
he made insulting remarks, and threats, and insisted that there was a
mine. He did not dare to say much to Mr. Adams, though. After a few
weeks he seemed to have tired, and to have drawn off. He had been very
annoying.
"Well, George," said old Dr. Paulis, one evening, "I guess you and
Charley fall heir to that dust and mine. Nobody else appears to have
any shadow of claim on them."
Charley's heart leaped; but his father shook his head.
"They're not ours, doctor," he replied. "I'd much prefer that somebody
turn up who needs them and is entitled to them."
"My dear man," protested the doctor, earnestly, "you do need them.
That's the point. You need them and you're to have them. I want you
to take the money and go to California!"
"Oh--hurrah!" cried Charley, springing up and sitting down again.
"Why----!" gasped his father. "But look here, anyway: it wouldn't be
mine; it belongs to Charley, remember. The man gave it to Charley, if
he gave it to anybody."
"Humph," grunted the old doctor, eyes twinkling. "Supposing Charley
lends you half, then--and he takes the other half and you and he go
shares on the trip and on what you find."
"Hurrah!" again cheered Charley. "I don't want it; dad can have it
all, of course. But I'd like to go, if I can."
"No arguments, now," warned the old doctor, to Mr. Adams, who sat
bewildered. "Your wife and I've agreed. You need a sea voyage, and a
little roughing it in the out-of-doors yonder in the California
mountains. That's just what you need, to set you up again. Now's your
chance. Besides, there's the mine----"
"The Golden West mine!" cheered Charley. "Sure. That's ours, too."
"There's the mine," continued the old doctor. "Somebody ought to be
developing that mine. If any real heirs ever do turn up, you see,
you'll have more than $800 to give them."
"They'll certainly get either the mine or their $800," asserted Mr.
Adams. "I don't want pay for taking care of anybody in distress."
"By all means no," concurred the old doctor. "But according to what
Charley understood (and you heard some of it, yourself), that man gave
him the dust, and also wanted him to have the mine. So you and he are
going out there, and you'll start just as soon as you possibly can."
"You will go, won't you, George?" urged Mrs. Adams. "I'll get along
splendidly. The main thing is your health. We can't any of us be
happy or contented while you're poorly--and the doctor says California
is the very thing for you. It does seem as though the way had been
opened by Providence. I'm just as glad as I can be!"
"So am I!" cheered Charley. "I'm going over and tell Billy."
"Hold on a bit," cautioned the doctor. "Wait till we finish up."
It required considerable more talk before Mr. Adams was fully
persuaded. At last he did say that he'd go, if Mrs. Adams could be
left--and if Charley would lend him the money. Lend him the money! As
if Charley wouldn't gladly give him every cent--yes, and stay home
himself, to boot, if necessary. But that was not necessary; Charley
was to go, as partner and comrade.
Plans followed thick and fast, and Charley was chock full of news when
he found Billy Walker.
"You don't know what I know!"
"What?" asked Billy.
"I'm going out to California! I'll get there before you do!"
"Aw--honest?" queried Billy. "We start day after to-morrow. How'll
you beat us? When do you start? Who else is going?"
"Start next week. Dad and I."
"Why don't you come with us? We'd have a lot of fun. How are you
going to beat us? What's your outfit? We've got a mighty fine team of
horses."
"We are not going overland," announced Charley, triumphantly. "That's
too long, and my father needs the sea air. We're going across the
Isthmus and sail up the Pacific to San Francisco!"
"How long will that take?" demanded Billy.
"About a month and a half, in all."
"Oh, shucks!" said Billy. "It'll take us three months. That's what
the papers say, anyhow. Maybe you _will_ beat us, then. But I'll have
twice as much fun."
"Why?" asked Charley.
"Because we'll be twice as long--see? What are you going to take?
You'd better look over our stuff. Come on."
"We've bought everything we could here in St. Louis," explained Billy,
as he led the way. "They say California prices are awful, there's such
a rush. Our wagon's full."
And as it stood in the Walkers's back yard, it certainly was.
"We won't need such a lot of provisions," said Charley, wisely. "We
get fed on the boats."
"That's so," agreed Billy. "But dad and I'll use up 150 pounds of
flour and bacon apiece, just getting across. An article in the paper
said people ought to carry that much, besides coffee and sugar and salt
and all that. Now I'll show you my clothes."
That was more interesting. The stout flannel shirts and the jean
trousers and the heavy cow-hide boots and the belt and the wide-brimmed
slouch hat and the coarse knitted socks looked very business-like. Mr.
Walker's clothes were about the same, except that his flannel shirts
were red, while Billy's were blue. Charley resolved that he'd get red,
for himself.
"You ought to have guns, too," asserted Billy. "You might need 'em.
We'll need ours, I bet, for buffalo and Injuns and grizzly bears. The
papers say to take a rifle and pair of pistols, five pounds of powder
and ten pounds of lead. Dad's bought one of those new-kind patent
revolving pistols--you can shoot it six times and take out the cylinder
and put in another and shoot six times more! Guess there won't many
Injuns want to tackle _us_! And I've got a seven-shooter rifle, all my
own."
III
AN UNWELCOME COMPANION
According to an advertisement in the St. Louis papers the steamship
_Georgia_, from New York for the Isthmus of Panama, was to arrive at New
Orleans in three weeks. That would be just about the right date, decided
Mr. Adams, to allow him and Charley to make their preparations, and take
a steamboat down the Mississippi from St. Louis to New Orleans.
Now all was excitement, not only at the Adams home, but throughout St.
Louis and the whole eastern country. Charley bid good-bye to Billy and
Billy's father, when with their team and white-topped wagon they pulled
out, in their party, for Westport Landing, which is now Kansas City.
From Westport Landing they were to drive on to Council Grove, thirty
miles west, which was the big starting point for California. The papers
declared that already, in this April, 15,000 people had gathered along
the Missouri River border, all the way from Independence, Missouri, to
Council Bluffs of Iowa, prepared to start on their 2000-mile trip to the
new gold fields, as soon as the grass began to grow. Every boat, too, to
the Isthmus, was crowded--and so were the sailing vessels, bound around
Cape Horn!
The lowest cabin-fare, New York to San Francisco by the Isthmus, was
$395! Counting the steamboat trip down the Mississippi, the fare was
about the same from St. Louis. Whew! That seemed to Charley a lot of
money--but thanks to the stranger whom they had taken in, Charley and his
father had it, and could leave Mrs. Adams well provided for, besides,
with what Mr. Adams had in reserve. That was good. A number of men had
gone off and left their families to get along as best they could, but
this was not Mr. Adams's way.
Being an experienced campaigner, Charley's father knew just about what
kind of an outfit they would need; and of course, as Billy had said, the
papers all had published lists, for the information of the emigrants.
All the clothing should be of the toughest and hardiest material; by
accounts there would not be much chance to renew it, out at the mines,
unless a person was prepared to pay tremendous prices. You should have
seen Charley, when his clothes came home! It had been great fun, buying
at the stores, where "California garments" were going like hot cakes, but
he could scarcely wait until he had tried his things on. When he looked
in the glass, and saw himself in broad slouch hat, and red flannel shirt,
and belted trousers tucked into cowhide boots, with a blue bandanna
handkerchief about his neck, he felt like a real gold-miner. The whitish
cotton suits, for wear on shipboard and on the Isthmus, in the tropics,
did not amount to much in comparison with this garb of a
"Forty-niner"--as the papers were beginning to call the outgoing gold
seekers.
Mr. Adams bought a brand-new Colt's revolving rifle, that shot seven
times, a revolving pistol (as it was termed), and two butcher-knives--one
apiece, to be worn thrust through the belt. Charley donned the knife,
just to see how it looked (and it looked very business-like), but his
father did not allow him to put on the big pistol. Maybe out in the gold
fields he might wear it, though.
Then there were two picks and two spades and two sheet-iron miners' pans.
These pans were round, about six inches deep and fifteen inches across at
the rims, slanting to a foot across at the bottom. They resembled a
milk-pan. They were to be used for "washing out" the gold from the dirt.
Charley had no idea how to do this; neither had his father--and neither
had one in a hundred of the other people who were talking California.
But they all expected to learn, in case it was not possible to scrape the
pure gold up with spades!
"By gracious!" exclaimed Mr. Adams, at the very last moment. "We mustn't
forget the skillet! That's the most important thing yet."
"Of course!" agreed Mrs. Adams. "How'll you fry your meat?"
So a new skillet was added to the outfit. The clothing packed a trunk
jam full. The picks and spades and skillet and rifle and other unwieldy
things were rolled in Mr. Adams's two army blankets and a couple of
quilts. That made a large bundle, and with the picks and spades showing
finely it told exactly where the owners were bound. Charley was proud of
that bundle.
At last, one morning, he donned his miner's costume in earnest, for the
day of the start had come. The trunk and bundle were sent down to the
levee in a wagon. On this day, at ten o'clock, the steamboat _Robert
Burns_ would leave for New Orleans.
Mrs. Adams of course went down to the levee with her two gold seekers to
see them off. Moments were growing very precious. The _Robert Burns_
was there, waiting, the smoke welling from her tall twin stacks. The
levee was crowded with passengers and their friends and relatives. Negro
roustabouts were hard at work hustling freight and baggage aboard.
Charley saw their trunk carried over the gangplank--and he nudged his
father and pointed, for several passengers, dressed in California
costume, were carrying up the gangplank rolls of bedding just like theirs!
It was high time he hunted up their roll, too. He found it, where it had
been pitched from the wagon. As he was proudly inspecting it to see that
all was right, he stumbled over a small cowhide trunk. Attached to the
handle was a card that read: "J. Jacobs"!
"Jacobs!" That was the long-nosed man's name. Was he booked on the
_Robert Burns_? And why? Charley grew excited at the thought, and when
his father and mother strolled across, to be near the bundle, he called:
"Father! Look here!"
Mr. Adams limped over (and big and fine he was in his rough clothes), to
see.
"Humph!" he muttered. "Well, what of it, Charley?"
"Do you think that's his?"
"Whose?"
"Why, the long-nosed man's."
"I'm sure I don't know," answered his father, coolly.
"But that's his name," pursued Charley. "Do you think he's going on our
boat?"
"We can't very well stop him, boy," smiled Mr. Adams. "It isn't 'our'
boat, exactly; and he can't do us any harm, anyway. You aren't afraid of
him, are you?"
"N--no, not if you aren't," asserted Charley. "But he's no business
following us up as he said he would."
"Humph!" again remarked his father. "We can take care of ourselves.
We'll mind our own affairs, and we'll expect him to mind his. If that's
his trunk, probably he's only going down-river a way. We won't borrow
trouble this early in the game, Charley."
That sounded reasonable, and Charley had a lot of trust in his soldier
father. Only--_if_ that trunk belonged to the long-nosed man, and if the
long-nosed man was going down to New Orleans with them, and if he boarded
the same steamer there, for California, things looked mighty peculiar.
He seemed to be such a mean, obstinate fellow that there was no knowing
what he might have up his sleeve.
Mrs. Adams was curious to know the cause of Charley's evident excitement
over the trunk.
"Oh, it bears the name Jacobs, dear," explained Mr. Adams, easily.
"Charley has the notion it means that the 'long-nosed man,' as he calls
him, is going to California with us."
"Oh, George!" And Charley's mother, too, seemed alarmed. "Do you
suppose he is?"
"No, I don't. But we can't stop him, anyway."
"It's queer he'd take this same boat, though. Maybe he's been watching
you."
"Oh, pshaw," laughed Mr. Adams. "Don't let's rig up a scarecrow, to
spoil our good-byes. Charley and I'll take care of ourselves; won't we,
Charley? We'll stick by each other, and other folks can do as they
please, as long as they don't interfere. Come on; let's go aboard, and
you can see our state-room, and say good-bye there."
Mr. Adams picked up the bundle, and shouldering it led the way up the
gangplank. Mrs. Adams followed, and Charley, in his miner's rig, with
butcher-knife stuck through his belt, proudly stumped after. He wished
that Billy Walker was there, to see. But other people were seeing,
anyway.
When they gained the deck, and were passing around to the state-room
(which was number 19), glancing back Charley saw a darky roustabout
heaving the Jacobs trunk on his back, and starting with it for the
gangplank. So it came aboard, but of its owner, if he was their Mr.
Jacobs, there was no sign.
Presently the big bell rang vigorously, and the whistle hoarsely blew, as
signal for all visitors to go ashore. Mrs. Adams gave Charley and her
husband one final kiss, and Charley added to his return kiss a round hug.
She was such a good woman; he wished that she was going, too. He rather
wished that he could stay at home with her; he--he--and he choked. For a
moment he almost hated his miner's costume. However----
"Write often, now," she bade, her eyes dewy, as with her they hastened
out on deck.
"Yes, we will. And you write often and tell us the news. Send us the
papers."
"I will, dear. Now, do be careful."
"Yes. Take care of yourself, too. If you need us, we'll come straight
home, won't we, Charley?"
Charley could only nod.
"Hurry, dear, or you'll be left," warned Mr. Adams, anxiously--for
already the gangplank ropes had been tautened by the donkey-engine and
the plank was trembling to rise. Charley rather wished that she would be
left; then she'd have to come with them! Wouldn't that be great!
But she ran down the plank. Then, near the end, she stopped, and called
back.
"What's that, dear?" inquired Mr. Adams, and he and Charley listened
keenly.
"Have you got the quinine?"
"Yes. Hurry, dear."
"Sure?"
"It's in the trunk. Look out--jump!"
The gangplank was rising, but with a little run Mrs. Adams did jump and
landed safely. Charley laughed. They didn't catch his mother--no,
siree. And she was the last person to leave the boat.
Up rose the gangplank. The engine bell jangled. The negro roustabouts
cast off the bow and stern hawsers from the wharf posts, and scrambled
over the gunwale as the _Robert Burns_ began to back out into the stream.
Mrs. Adams waved her handkerchief. Everybody on the wharf waved--mostly
handkerchiefs, which were suddenly very popular. The people on board
waved back--and they, too, used handkerchiefs pretty generally. Faster
and farther backed the _Robert Burns_, until in midcurrent, after
describing a great half-circle, she was pointing down stream. The engine
bell jangled to stop, and to go ahead--and she was started for New
Orleans.
They were off for California!
The levee, with his mother's handkerchief now fading into the whitish
blur of other handkerchiefs, drifted behind; Charley took a long breath,
straightened his shoulders, stole a glance at his father, who was winking
violently in queer fashion, and began to take stock of the other
passengers. Some were leaving the rail; a number of others already had
left it, and were negligently strolling about or seating themselves for
comfort. They mostly were men--business men, planters, and the like,
traveling down-river on pleasure or errands of importance, and a few
miners bound for California. There was no Mr. Jacobs, that Charley knew,
among them, and he felt easier. Probably "J. Jacobs" was some other
Jacobs, and not the long-nosed man.
"Let's go in and put our room to rights, Charley," proposed Mr. Adams, as
the buildings of old St. Louis merged one with another, on the shore line
behind.
He briskly limped across the deck, and Charley followed. This would be
something to do, at any rate. But as he passed the door of the long
salon, or lounging room, he glanced in and saw clear to the other end,
where there was a bar for sale of liquors. And he was certain that he
glimpsed the long-nosed man, just coming from the bar!
Charley's heart fairly skipped a beat. No, he would not say anything to
his father, for perhaps he had been mistaken--and what was the sense in
being scared? Supposing that was the long-nosed man. He was not bigger
or smarter than they, and besides, as Mr. Adams had said, he had a
perfect right to travel on the Mississippi River. Everybody used the
river, because there were no railroads here. However, it was queer, his
choosing this boat.
Charley and his father set their state-room in order, by arranging their
clothes and sleeping things.
"You can go out, if you want to, Charley," spoke his father. "I've got a
little more to do, yet. Then I'll come, too."
"All right," and away clumped Charley, in his heavy boots. This time he
was determined to look in earnest for the long-nosed man. He hoped that
he would not find him, but he feared, just the same.
He did not have far to look. The long-nosed man was standing leaning
against one side of the doorway of the salon. Yes, it was he, sure
enough! He acted as if he was waiting, for when he saw Charley
approaching, to pass, he smiled, and waved genially.
"Well," he greeted, halting Charley. "So proud of your new clothes that
you don't recognize old friends, eh? Come here."
Charley boldly walked straight to him. The man's tone made him mad.
"How are you?" answered Charley. "Taking a trip?"
Mr. Jacobs squinted his eyes and wrinkled his long nose cunningly.
"Y--yes," he drawled. "Taking a little trip." His breath smelled of
liquor. "Suppose you're going to Californy, to look for that gold mine.
Thought you'd give me the slip, did you?"
"No," said Charley. "We didn't think anything about you, especial."
"Oh, you didn't!" And the long-nosed man spat tobacco juice on the clean
deck. "You reckoned on giving me the slip, though. But I've been
watching you. Didn't I tell you I was half wild hoss and half alligator?
What's to hinder me from going out to Californy, too?"
"Nothing, I expect," replied Charley, his heart sinking. "Why? Are you?"
The long-nosed man leered.
"Maybe I am, and maybe I'm not. You go your trail and I'll go mine, but
if they cross, look out. Half of that property belongs to me,
remember--and half of that money you're using, too."
"It doesn't, either," snapped Charley, angry, his spunk up. "And we
aren't afraid of you; not a bit. Go on out to California, if you want
to, but don't you bother us. And don't you bother my mother, or you'll
get in trouble."
He heard a familiar step, and the voice of his father.
"Hello! This is the man, is it, after all?"
"Hello, yourself," retorted Mr. Jacobs, glaring at him. "Maybe you think
you own this boat."
"Not a bit, sir," answered Mr. Adams, good-natured.
"Maybe you think you can dictate where I travel."
"No, sir. I expect to look after myself, and not after you."
"Well said," approved the long-nosed man. "Now will you have a drink?"
"I never use liquor, sir," returned Mr. Adams--and Charley was proud to
hear him say it.
"'D rather not drink with _me_, perhaps," sneered the long-nosed man.
"I see no reason for drinking with you or at all, sir," sharply replied
Mr. Adams. "Come on, Charley. We've got better business to tend to."
"You have, have you?" called the long-nosed man, after them. "Maybe you
think I don't know what it is. Maybe you think----" but they paid no
more attention to him.
Still, the meeting was not pleasant, and Charley heartily wished that the
"J. Jacobs" had proved to some other Jacobs.
IV
A FRIEND IN NEED