Mark Manning's Mission

"How's he fixed? Did he hang on to his pile?"

"He's hanging on to it now," answered Lyman, with an oath. "He made out he was poor, and sent me off with a beggarly five-dollar note."

"Perhaps he's lost his money."

"More likely he's keeping it out of the way. He ought to give me half he made out of the claim."

"I don't know about that, stranger. You gave up and left, and all he made afterwards, went of right to him."

Lyman Taylor, however, did not regard the matter in that light. Discreetly losing sight of the circumstances under which he left his uncle, carrying off all the gold dust he had then accumulated, he persuaded himself that he had suffered a great wrong in not having shared in the subsequent rich development.

"Just my luck!" he said to himself, moodily.

"If I'd only waited a couple of months I'd have left California a rich man. How was I to guess how the claim was going to pan out. I didn't think Uncle Anthony would have treated me so meanly. I wonder how much he's got left?"

This was an interesting subject of consideration, but unfortunately, Lyman had no data to go upon; or, rather, what data he had, were not calculated to favor the presumption that his uncle was a rich man.

It did not look very likely that a rich man, or even one moderately well-to-do, would voluntarily make his home in a poor cabin, like that which old Anthony occupied.

Lyman began to fear that his uncle had managed to lose by bad investments the money he had obtained from the claims, and was really as poor as appearances would seem to indicate.

"Are you livin' in this hotel?" asked the miner.

"I'm not living anywhere in particular," answered Lyman. "Fact is, I'm rather down on my luck. There are no 'piles' to be made in New York."

"I've been there myself, stranger. Here, take this, and pay it back when it's convenient."

Lyman eagerly accepted the twenty-dollar gold piece offered him by his liberal new acquaintance, and leading the way to the bar, they cemented their new-born friendship by a drink in true California style. He then proposed a game of cards, but the miner declined.

"I never cared much for keerds," he said. "Excuse me! I don't mind playing a game of pool if you're agreeable."

When the two parted, they were sworn friends. Lyman, however, found that his miner friend had all his wits about him, and that the twenty dollar loan was all he was likely to extract from him.

"I must make another visit to that uncle of mine," said Lyman to himself, as he sauntered down the Bowery. "He ought to pay me half the money he got for that claim."

CHAPTER XVII.

ON THE TRAIL OF GOLD

Keen on the scent of anything likely to turn to his own advantage, Lyman Taylor arranged the very next day to make a second visit to Pocasset, and find out definitely, if possible, whether his uncle had saved any of the large sum which his claim had yielded him.

He hardly knew what to think. Anthony was not the man to waste money on extravagant living, but then he might have made poor investments, and reduced himself to a pittance. Cases of that kind were common enough in California, as Lyman knew well enough.

He preferred, however, to think that his uncle had turned miser, and was still the possessor of a handsome fortune. In that case, as the only near relative, it ought to come to him some day.

"Let me see," he mused, "how old is Uncle Anthony! Fifty-nine!" he resumed, after a mental calculation. "That isn't very old, but he looks a good deal older. He is about played out—a physical wreck," he reflected, complacently, "and may not live a year.

"In that damp cabin it could not be expected. Of course it's his own lookout. If he chooses to live there, I don't see that it's any of my business. I ought to come to a friendly understanding with him, and get him to recognize me as his heir. I dare say he's got his money hidden away in some out-of-the-way place. It would be a sorry joke if he should die, and it shouldn't be found."

Lyman shuddered uneasily, as he thought of this contingency.

"He ought to place his money in charge of some competent manager," he resumed. "I'd take care of it myself, and save him all business cares, if he'd let me."

Lyman did not appreciate the absurdity of this plan. Few persons think themselves unfit to be trusted with money. What he thought of his own honesty can only be conjectured. Probably he did not regard himself with the eyes of those who knew him.

Such thoughts were passing through the mind of the hermit's nephew, as he was traveling from New York to Pocasset. Arrived at the depot, he set out for the village at a brisk pace.

Presently he espied in advance of him a couple of boys, whose figures looked familiar. It did not take him long to recall the two boys he had met in the pasture on his former visit. Of course they were James and Tom.

"Just the ones I want to see," he said to himself. "I may get some news from them."

He quickened his pace, and soon overtook them.

"Good morning, young gentlemen!" he said, urbanely. "I believe we have met before."

The boys turned around. They, too, recognized him.

"Yes, sir," answered James. "You are old Anthony's nephew."

"The same! I am glad you remember me. Have you seen or heard of my uncle lately?"

"Yes; we saw him yesterday in the wood."

"Has he recovered from his rheumatic attack?"

"I guess so," said Tom. "He is looking pretty well now."

"I came down to inquire his condition. I am his only relative, and though he is prejudiced against me, I can't help feeling anxious about his health. Can you tell me anything about him?"

"He has that boy, Mark Manning, about him all the time."

"What can be the boy's object in keeping company with a poor old man, who has no way of rewarding him?"

"I am not so sure about that," said James.

"About what?" asked Lyman, quickly.

"About his being poor."

"Have you any reason to think my uncle has money?" asked Lyman, eagerly, fixing a sharp glance of inquiry on the speaker.

James looked at Tom, as if to consult him about the propriety of telling what he knew.

"As I am his nephew and only relation, and—heir," continued Lyman, "you can freely tell me anything you have found out."

"Would you?" asked James, turning to his companion.

"I don't see why not," returned Tom.