THE DISAPPEARANCE OF MAYBE DIXON
When the doctor arrived at Mark's side he found the youth in a fever.
He at once set to work and administered some medicine, and remained at
the sufferer's side part of the night and an hour in the morning.
"I feel quite sure he will get well," he said, when he was ready to
leave. "But should he have a turn for the worse you had better come for
me again."
He left some pills and several bottles of medicine, and then, having
received his pay, rode away. The boys and Maybe Dixon were sorry to see
him depart.
"I wish he was stopping in this camp," said Si. "Then he could come
around every day."
"Well, he has told us what to do and we'll have to follow directions,"
answered Bob. "Too bad! After the fine way we were getting along!"
"I shan't complain, if only he pulls through," put in Maybe Dixon.
"He is not going to die--we must pull him through, somehow," said Bob,
decidedly.
After that he scarcely left Mark's side for a week. At night Si or
Maybe Dixon would relieve him for a few hours, but it was Bob who
administered the medicine and tried to make Mark as comfortable as
possible.
"I feel just as if Mark was my brother," he said to the others. "I
never was so attached to anybody before."
"Well, I feel attached to him myself," said Si. "But then I've got
my folks at home, while you have nobody. That makes a great deal of
difference."
At the end of the third day came the crisis, and for a few hours it
looked as if poor Mark might die. He was totally unconscious and they
had to force the medicine down his throat. But the doctor had told them
to look for this, so they were not particularly surprised, only worried.
But, the crisis passed, it was wonderful how quickly Mark seemed to
rally. He gained strength every hour, and in a few days was able to sit
up, take a little food, and do some talking.
"I am awfully glad you are better," said Bob, with a beaming face. "But
you must go slow, Mark, or you'll have a relapse. The doctor said so."
"Did I have a doctor?"
"Yes."
"I don't remember it."
"You were pretty far gone when he came. But now be still, and I'll fix
you some broth."
As soon as Mark began to mend Si and Maybe Dixon went to work regularly
once more. They found no large nuggets, but a good bit of gold in
coarse grains, which pleased them not a little.
Maybe Dixon was of a wandering nature and one day announced that he
was going up into the mountain back of the gulch, to do a bit of
prospecting. He took with him a fair stock of provisions, a pick, and a
washing pan, and said he would be back inside of three or four days.
A man from Ohio had drifted into camp, with his wife and daughter.
The girl was a likely miss of seventeen, and she readily agreed to
play nurse to Mark now that he was on the road to recovery. She also
agreed to cook the meals for all hands, for the sum of ten dollars per
week--wages that were not considered extra high during those exciting
times. She came early in the morning and went away after the supper
dishes were put away, and proved a great help to the boys.
"It seems more like home to have a woman around," said Mark. "She is
very nice to me, too."
"First thing you know Mark will be falling in love," said Si, with a
grin.
"You needn't talk," retorted Bob. "I see you making sheep's eyes at
Tillie already."
"Wasn't at all," cried Si, and went off to his work with a very red
face. Tillie West was the sort of a farm girl that just suited him. And
she liked Si, as everybody could readily see.
Four days came and went and Maybe Dixon did not come back. In the
meantime there was great excitement in a neighboring camp. Si brought
in the news one night.
"Been some thieves over to Hogan's Flat," he declared. "They cleaned
out Hogan's gold, and the gold belonging to a feller named Sanderfield,
too."
"Did they get much?" questioned Bob, with interest.
"Dust and nuggets worth about two thousand dollars. They might have
got more, only Hogan took some nuggets worth three thousand dollars to
Sacramento last week."
"Have they any idea who the thieves are?"
"Not exactly, although they say several suspicious-looking fellows were
hanging around the camp some days ago."
"I hope they catch them."
"So do I," came from Mark, who was sitting up on his couch. "Boys, is
our gold safe?" he added, in a lower voice.
"Yes," answered Bob, and glanced at the spot where the precious hoard
had been buried.
"We must take some to Sacramento soon and ship it to a safe place,"
said Si.
"Where to?"
"I'll ship mine home."
"I haven't any home," answered Bob. "And Mark won't want to send it to
his step-father."
"You can send it to my father, if you want to. I know he will take good
care of it," went on Si.
For the time being nothing was done towards removing the gold. Si and
Bob were anxious to see Mark get around once more, and soon they grew
anxious to know what had become of Maybe Dixon.
As two days more passed, Si determined to go up in the mountain on a
hunt for Dixon.
"He may have fallen over some cliff and been killed," said the former
farm lad. "He said he would be back, and as he hasn't come he must be
in trouble of some sort."
"Well, you look out that you don't get into trouble," answered Bob.
Si went out on foot, as Maybe Dixon had done, and tramped up the
mountain, and along various trails for the best part of the day. Toward
nightfall he met an old prospector who said he had passed Maybe Dixon
two days before, bound for the gulch.
"He didn't tell me out and out, but he led me to believe that he had
struck a rich find," said the old prospector.
"He didn't come back."
"That's queer. Perhaps he went back, to make sure about the find. Men
sometimes do that, you know. They can't believe the evidence of their
own senses at first--if the find is a very rich one."
Si did not know what to do. He camped under a tree that night and early
in the morning continued his search. Then he reached a spot where
somebody had eaten a meal and from the evidences strewn around knew
that Maybe Dixon had been there. Footprints led along another trail
from this point and he followed, up a hill and then into a patch of
forest.
He had not gone far into the forest when he came to a rude shack, in
front of which a campfire was smoldering. By the side of the campfire
two men were talking earnestly.
The men were tough characters, as Si could see at a glance. Each wore a
pistol in his belt and was attired in a Mexican costume, with cloak and
broad-brimmed hat.
"Mexican gold hunters," thought Si, and he was right.
He slipped behind the trees and drew closer. The men were conversing in
Spanish, so he did not understand a word of what was said. But once in
a while one would point to the shack and tap his pistol significantly.
Had the men appeared more agreeable, the youth might have shown
himself. But their looks were against them and Si had no desire to meet
them face to face. He surmised that they could speak little English,
and would therefore be unable to answer any question he might put
concerning Maybe Dixon.
The Mexicans continued to talk for fully five minutes. Then one slipped
into the shack. He came out immediately, and a moment later the two men
walked away, up the mountain-side.
Si could not tell why he felt that way, but he had a strong desire to
look into the shack, although he was half inclined to believe it was
empty. He waited until the two Mexicans were out of sight and then
crossed the little opening and peered into the rude building.
At first he could see little or nothing, it was so dark inside. But
then he made out the form of a man, lying on his side and breathing
heavily.
"Maybe Dixon!" he gasped and bent over the form. "What does this mean?"
The old miner tried to straighten out, and gave a groan. Si then saw
that blood was flowing from a cut on the man's forehead and that he had
his hands bound behind him and his ankles also fastened together. He
got out his jackknife and lost no time in setting Maybe Dixon free.
"Did those Mexicans do this?" he asked.
"Yes," came from Maybe Dixon, in a hoarse whisper. "Si, for the love of
heaven, give me some water! I am dying of thirst!"
The boy understood, and running outside he made for the nearest
mountain stream and came back with a cup of water. He made three trips
before Maybe Dixon's thirst was satisfied. Then he got more water,
washed the cut on the forehead, and bound it up with a handkerchief.
"What does this mean?" he asked.
"Are they gone?" asked the old miner.
"Yes."
"How did you get here?"
"I came up on the mountain, looking for you."
"Good boy, Si! Have you a pistol?"
"Yes."
"Let me have it."
"What for?"
"I want to shoot them skunks on sight! They ain't fit to live."
"I don't think they will be back just yet. They went up into the
mountain. But what is it all about?"
"I've struck a gold mine about five miles from here--a regular bonanza.
Those fellows suspected it and followed me. Then they made me a
prisoner and did all they could think of to get my secret away from
me," answered Maybe Dixon.