Digging for Gold

“Then you don’t believe his party was attacked by Indians?”

“No, I don’t; but if I catch him he’ll think he has been attacked by Indians.”

“It will be a serious loss to us, Tom,” said the blacksmith, with a troubled face.

“We’ll get him back if we can, father. I wonder if the fellow has stolen anything else.”

Grant thrust his hand into his pocket and made a discovery.

“I’ve lost about two dollars in silver,” he said.

“It may have slipped out of your pocket during the night.”

Grant examined the ground on which he had been lying, and shook the blankets; but not one of the missing silver coins was found.

“No,” he said. “The silver must have been taken from my pocket. No; I had some bills in my right-hand pocket. I was lying on my right side, so he could not get at it without the risk of waking me up. Have you lost anything, Tom?”

Tom had been examining his pockets.

“No,” he said grimly. “The fellow didn’t dare to tackle me, I reckon. If I had caught him at it I would have strangled him. Father, how is it with you?”

“I am all right, Tom.”

“Then he didn’t get much outside of the horse. But that’s a serious enough loss. Poor Dobbin!”

“If I only knew which way he went,” said Tom slowly.

But this was not clear. There was nothing to do but to get ready for the day’s march, and set out. The loss of Dobbin made it necessary that all should walk except Mrs. Cooper, who sat in the wagon.

They had been about three hours on the way when a tramping sound was heard, and Dobbin came running up to the party, whinnying with joy.

“There’s nothing amiss with him,” said Tom joyfully. “I wonder how he got away from the man that stole him. Are you glad to get back, old fellow?”

There could be no doubt on that point, for the horse seemed content and happy.

“Where’s old Silverthorn, I wonder?” said Tom.

The question was soon to be answered.

CHAPTER XI

AN INDIAN ENCOUNTER

The country through which the Cooper party were now travelling was partially wooded. Soon, however, they would reach the long and barren stretch of country – the great salt plain – which was the dread of all overland parties. Then there would be no woods till they approached the borders of the Golden State.

About the middle of the afternoon, while the oxen were plodding along at the rate of barely two miles an hour, they received a surprise.

Tom Cooper, whose eyes were the sharpest, called out suddenly:

“Look there!”

Grant looked, but had to approach nearer before he could realize the situation. Then he saw a white man tied to a slender tree, while half a dozen Indians were dancing round him, uttering a series of guttural cries, which appeared to fill the captive with intense dread. It was too far to distinguish the features of the prisoner, but when they came nearer Tom cried out, “Dang me, if it aint Silverthorn!”

It was indeed Dionysius Silverthorn, and his plight was certainly a serious one.

“What shall we do?” asked Grant.

“We must rescue him,” answered Tom. “He’s a mean rascal, and he’s repaid our hospitality by robbing us; but we can’t let him be killed by those redskins.”

“I’m with you!” said Grant.

By this time the Indians had caught sight of the approaching party. They ceased dancing and appeared to be conferring together. When Silverthorn saw that some of his own color were at hand he uttered a loud cry, and would have stretched out his hands if they had not been fettered.

“Help me! help me!” he cried. “Save me from these fiends!”

The Indians – six in number – seeing that there were but three in the approaching party, took courage and decided to maintain their ground. They uttered, a yell and fired a volley of arrows, one of which whizzed by Grant’s ear.

Tom Cooper gritted his teeth.

“We’ll teach them a lesson,” he said.

He raised his rifle, and, aiming at the foremost Indian, fired deliberately. The redskin fell, pierced to the heart.

This appeared to strike his companions with dismay. They seemed panic-stricken, as well they might be, for the bows and arrows with which they were armed were no match for the rifles of the little party opposed to them. One of them raised his arm and uttered a few words; these were of course unintelligible to Grant and his companions, but their sense became apparent when he pointed to the dead Indian, and, with one of his companions, lifted him from the ground and began to beat a retreat.

“They won’t trouble us any more, Grant,” said Tom. “They are going away. But we had better keep on the watch, for they are a crafty race, and may meditate some treachery.”

When they were beyond bowshot, Tom led the way to the spot where Mr. Silverthorn was eagerly awaiting deliverance from his uncomfortable position.

“Well,” said Tom, taking a position where he had a good view of the captive, “what have you got to say for yourself?”

“Oh, please release me, Mr. Tom!” said Dionysius, in a pleading tone.

“Why should I? What claim have you on me?”

“The claim of humanity. You’ve no idea what I have suffered in the last hour.”

“First, I want you to explain why you stole my horse.”

“You’ve got him back,” said Silverthorn, who could see old Dobbin browsing beside the wagon.

“Yes; but no thanks to you.”

“Indeed, I only meant to borrow him for a while.”

“And you borrowed Grant’s money in the same way, I suppose.”

“Put yourself in my place, Mr. Tom. I was penniless and destitute. How could I make my way alone through this wilderness?”