Two weeks passed by after the little party of Morris, Helen, Bennie
and Loney had gone to the mine designated on the paper which had been
given to Morris. These two weeks would outweigh a year in any other
place or time. Every morning found Morris at work, digging with pick
and shovel, but he made no progress, for either he had not reached the
proper place or there was not the gold that “Cactus Bill” had thought
there was, something that happens with the most experienced miners
sometimes. There being no money to purchase food with, and no handy
market, it fared badly with the novices in mining. Helen went out early
every morning and returned late at night with her gun, but it would
seem as if all the game in the mountains had left for another State,
for she found next to nothing, and the little camp was rapidly becoming
the abode of hunger--gaunt and grim. The shoemaker sat down by the
side of the place where he had been digging and wiped the drops of
perspiration from his brow as he said to Loney, who was always by his
side:
“It’s no use, Loney, ve haf vorked two weeks, and fount nodings at all.
It is entless, and all ve get is tired. I vork so hart vot I can, und
mit efery blow I pray to de good Gott to show me de golt. But I fint
it not. Und ven I fint it not, I nefer fint mein Dora! Here I am mit
you und Bennie in dis strange landt, mitout moneys, mitout home, and
hungry. All ve haf left is von small piece of dry bread.”
“And I am so hungry, Mr. Goldberg; so very, very hungry! Is it almost
time to eat?”
“Yes, Loney, it is time. Vait a minute und I vill go by the ice-chest
und get de dinner. Don’t worry, Loney, de Bennie and de Helen dey both
haf gone to hunt for de game mit deir guns, und sure dey get someding
dis time.”
“They went yesterday, too, and didn’t bring anything back. Why don’t
you send to the store for something?”
“Oh, mein boy, dere is not a store mithin a hundred miles avay, und if
dere pe von I haf no money. I must fint de golt--I must fint it. If
dere vos efen a telegraph-line--but how could I telegraph for somedings
to eat? Vell, vait, Loney, till I bring de breat.”
This argument, so convincing to the old man, was not at all so to the
child. But his docile mind made him rely upon the words of Mr. Goldberg
like on the rising of the sun--a certainty.
The shoemaker went to the shack and soon returned with a quarter of a
loaf of stale bread. He looked at it sadly, saying the while:
“Oh, my! oh, my! The bakers must be on a strike; eh, Loney? There
isn’t much, und ve must divide it up into four parts, for dere must pe
somedings for de Bennie und de Helen, if dey come back mitout anyding
again.”
“I’m awful glad it is time to eat, for I am so hungry. This is the
first bite we’ve had since yesterday.”
The little fellow’s eyes sparkled as he saw the bread, which most of us
would have thrown aside as valueless, and waited with impatience for it
to be divided. The shoemaker cut it into four pieces, picking up and
eating the crumbs that broke off from the loaf as he cut it. He handed
Loney his portion. As the child ate it ravenously, he shook his head
sadly, saying:
“Yes, this is the last crumb before starvation!”
Loney had broken his bread into pieces, and as he left some of them on
the rock by his side Morris broke his bread also into pieces, and put
one piece to his lips, then took it away resolutely, and, pointing to a
tree, said:
“Is dot a pirt on dat tree ofer dere?”
The child looked in the direction of the tree, while Morris slipped the
piece of bread down beside the others on the rock.
“I don’t see any bird, Mr. Goldberg. Why don’t you eat your bread? I
thought you were hungry, too.”
Saying this, the child took the bread from the rock all unsuspecting
that it had been placed there by the shoemaker. To aid in the
deception, the old man began to chew, saying:
“Vot you vant me to do? Dere, now, see how I choke meinselluf!”
Saying this, the kind man pretended to cough, and again said:
“Look, look! I am sure it is a pirt on de tree. Oh, if de Bennie und de
Helen vere only here now!”
As the child looked again, earnestly, at the tree, Morris placed the
rest of the bread on the rock, unperceived. The boy looked in vain
for the bird, and mechanically put his hand behind him for the bread,
and never knew that the good man had sacrificed himself for the sake
of seeing the child eat the bread. Morris kept up the deception
until he saw that Loney had finished his scanty meal, and then tears
of weakness, hunger and sorrow mingled and ran, unnoticed, down his
cheeks. Loney saw them and said:
“Oh, Mr. Goldberg! why are you crying?”
“Crying? I am laughing. I’m not crying. Don’t you know de difference
between laughing und crying! Ven ve get de golt ve can hire de best
detective-policemens in de vorld, und den ve fint her right avay. It
is hart dot ve must haf money, efen to fint our children ven dey pe
lostet. If I fint a million, dot all shall be spent to fint Dora!”
“I’ll help you, Mr. Goldberg. Would you buy me something?”
“Yes; vot you vant? A naughtymobble? Or a flying-machine?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Vell, den, I puy you a naughtymobble, mit a golt horn on it und mit
three pounds of diamonds all arount it. Haf you got a toothpick, Loney.
I haf got mein supper in mein teeth, und it makes me nervous.”
“No, sir, I haven’t got one,” said Loney, ready to cry, to think that
he could not give his benefactor what he wanted. He continued:
“Nefer mind, Loney. Ve vill vait till after breakfast.”
“Do you think there will be any breakfast, Mr. Goldberg?”
“If dere isn’t, den I vill be a deat’ von! Ah, sure dere vill be a
breakfast. I feel sure dot de Helen und de Bennie vill find someding,
if only a canary-pirt. Now you, Loney, go py de tent und sleep some,
und lay you down avile. I vill go to vork again till dey come. Maype I
vill fint de golt.”
The child went obediently into the tent and lay down on the bed of
leaves, and soon slept. Goldberg returned to the place where he had
been digging and commenced to work again, wielding the pick very
awkwardly, but with determination.
During the time that he had been at work at the claim, he had, under
Helen’s guidance and advice, dug a tunnel for quite a distance under
the mountain, and this he had shored up with timbers cut from the
trees. The work was hard and his unaccustomed hands were in a terrible
state, but the thought that the discovery of the gold hidden in this
claim meant the means to seek his child nerved him to the exertion.
Just above the mouth of his tunnel, but several feet distant, was a
large rock weighing many tons. Morris looked out toward the trail, from
whence he might expect to see Bennie and Helen come, but he failed
to look upward. Had he done so, he might have seen the evil faces of
John Pierson and Dopey Mack as they crouched behind the rock looking
down at the mouth of the tunnel. They had found a cavern several miles
away and had left Dora and Muriel there, while they came back to this
place. John had known of this claim, but had not known its location,
and now--to see such a chance for wealth pass from his hands into that
of the old shoemaker was too much, and he determined that the man must
die, so that he could step in and possess the claim. So steeped was he
in crime that the death of one or more victims counted for nothing in
his eyes.
When Morris had gone into the tunnel John whispered to Dopey, saying:
“Now is our time. We can loosen this big rock and push it down, so that
it will crush him as he comes out!”
“Aw, say, boss, why not plug him wid a bullet and be done wid it?”
“No; this quiet way is the best, and if anyone should, by any
possibility, be around, that person will think it an accident. Go and
bring that crowbar.”
The shoemaker kept at his task inside the tunnel, but it was growing
too dark to work much longer, and he laid down his pick and started
out, saying, as he did so, that it was no wonder gold was so costly,
since it was so hard to dig, and it was still less of a wonder that men
turned counterfeiters and thieves, when it was so much easier to be a
bad man than a good one. Then, again, he took up his pick and tried
to dig a few more strokes, but it was too dark and he came out of the
tunnel and sat down on a rock, where he suddenly gave way to grief and
sobbed as only strong men do.
“It is no use, no use! Dora, mein Dora, vere are you? Are you deat or
lifing?”
Just then the moon rose over the brow of the mountain and fell upon his
upturned face as he lifted his hands and prayed aloud:
“Oh, Gott! de fader abofe, send me mein chilt to me. I haf vaited so
long for her dot mein heart shall surely preak. Oh, Gott! send me mein
chilt!”
In the meantime John and Dopey, having loosened the rock, sneaked away
silently, leaving the rock balanced on a hair almost. They circled
around and escaped being seen by the rocks and tree-stumps, and stood
at a safe distance from the mine, as the rock might rebound. In such a
case it would be difficult to decide which way it would go. While they
stood hidden, waiting the moment when the loosened rock should come
crashing down, there was a soft sound, as of small feet brushing along
the leafy rocks, and a plaintive voice became audible as someone sang:
“Tell me that you love me,
Tell me softly, sweetly, as of old.”
The poor father thought this was the answer to his prayer and believed
that Dora was dead and this was her spirit that had come to warn him of
her death. He sank to the ground, sobbing, incapable of other movement.
Then, again, clearer, nearer came the sound of the dear voice, and
Morris raised his head to see his child come walking toward him and
singing the old song as she came. He half-whispered:
“Dora, mein chilt--alife! Dank Gott--alife!”
“Who are you, sir?” asked Dora, looking at her father as we look at
strangers. “I don’t know you. I am looking for my father and Bennie.”
“Look at me, mein chilt! I am your fader! Don’t you know me?”
“No--I don’t know you, and I must go away from you, for I must find my
father and Bennie.”
As she said these words, poor Dora walked away toward the ravine from
whence she had come. Muriel, worn out with watching, had fallen asleep,
and Dora had somehow found another entrance to the cave and gone out
that way, which brought her to the mouth of the tunnel where her father
was at work trying to get gold to seek for his daughter, and now that
he had found her he discovered that she was insane and did not know
him. As she went back toward the ravine her father roused from his
stupor and cried:
“Dora! Dora! come back! Come back!” But she disappeared from his sight
in the darkening shadows, while John and Dopey both sprang at Morris,
saying roughly:
“Where are you going?”
“Stand avay! I am going to get mein chilt.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind. She belongs to me now.”
“Stand avay! or, py de Gott dot made me, I vill kill you!”
“Kill?” sneered John, “why, you poor Jew, you wouldn’t kill anything.”
“Jew; yes, I am a Jew, but I haf anoder name and dot is vot de vorld
calls Fader, und a fader dot vill die for his young.”
“Stay where you are, or die!” said John.
“Mein chilt is dere, und you shall not keep me from her!” said Morris,
with a white, set face; and then, for the first time in his life,
Morris Goldberg was fighting, but this was for his child. He had no
thought of danger, but sprang at John’s throat. They struggled with
great ferocity. John had not expected to find such strength in the arms
of the old man, and had all he could do to ward off the strangling
fingers, but he managed to free himself from their grasp and call
“Dopey! at him!”
Then the shoemaker sprang, with his back to the rocky side of his
tunnel, after having seized a pick. This he flourished, saying:
“The first one dot moves, I vill brain!”
Loney heard the noise of the conflict and crept softly from the tent,
and, seeing in what danger his friend was, started away in the hope of
bringing aid. Dopey waited for no further orders, but fired his pistol
at Morris who ducked and the ball went wide of its mark, and higher.
It struck the big rock they had pried loose, and the sudden impact of
the ball caused it to recoil and then topple down with a great crash.
It rolled on down until it settled solidly at the very feet of John
Pierson, who gave it one look and then said:
“Well! by---- That rock is seamed with gold! He has struck it rich,
like all fools. He must have the deed to this claim. Upon him! at
him, Dopey!” But Dopey had fired his only shot and could not get near
enough, on account of that deadly pickaxe which Morris would surely
use, as he was worked up to a pitch where he had thrown his usual
prudence to the winds. He said, while the full extent of his good
fortune began to dawn upon his rather slow intelligence:
“I haf not de deet, und, if I hat, I vould die pefore I vould gif it to
you!”
Dopey reached around and took possession of one of John’s revolvers and
aimed at Morris when John, feeling sure of their superiority over the
lonely man, said:
“Don’t shoot, Dopey! Don’t kill him! If he hasn’t the deed on him,
we’ll make him tell where it is. We must take him alive. Come on!”
Both of the scoundrels sprang at Morris, whose mind was bewildered
by the simultaneous attack, and he wavered, so that Dopey managed
to strike him over the head with a slung-shot, which caused the
unfortunate man to fall, groaning and helpless, to the ground!
“Ah, now we have him,” said John, “and we’ll take him to the hut and
torture him to death by inches until he gives us the deed to this mine
of gold!”