Digging for Gold

“Yes; you may go to the stream behind the cabin and bring me some fresh water.”

Grant did as requested, and, elated by his unexpected good luck, started on his return to Howe’s Gulch.

When Grant reached the cabin jointly occupied by himself and Tom Cooper, he found Tom sitting outside, smoking his pipe.

He looked very thoughtful.

“Have you got rid of your headache, Grant?” he asked.

“Yes; I feel as lively as a cricket.”

“Then your walk has done you good?”

“A great deal of good,” answered Grant; but Tom did not detect the significance hidden in the reply. “How long have you been at home?”

“An hour.”

“Then you knocked off work earlier than usual.”

“Yes,” answered Tom soberly. “To tell the truth, Grant, I’m discouraged. How much do you think our day’s work amounts to?”

“Yours and mine?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“A dollar and seventy-five cents! I think, Grant, we had better inquire the location of the nearest poor house. We may want to ask admission.”

“There’s an old saying, Tom: ‘The darkest hour is just before the day.’”

“How does that apply here?”

“I will tell you. I have secured a claim from which ten thousand dollars was obtained within six months.”

“And then it petered out?”

“No; the owner stopped working it because he had money enough, and was satisfied.”

“Hasn’t it been worked since?”

“No.”

“How much did you agree to pay for it?” asked Tom, in excitement.

“Nothing. It was given me for a service I rendered the owner.”

“This seems like a fairy tale, Grant. What does it mean?”

“I will tell you;” and Grant related his afternoon’s adventure.

“Hurrah! we’re in luck!” exclaimed Tom, rising to his feet and swinging his hat in excitement. “If what you say is true, we’re made men.”

“I am glad you look upon me as a man,” said Grant, smiling.

“I’m only anticipating a little. I hope,” he added anxiously, “the old man won’t reconsider the matter.”

“Not much chance of it. I haven’t known him long, but I am quite sure that he isn’t that kind of a man.”

CHAPTER XXVI

NAHUM STOCKTON

“What shall we do with our old claims?” Before Grant could answer that question a step was heard, and looking up, the two friends saw approaching a tall, gaunt man of thirty-five – a typical Yankee – whose shabby attire indicated that he was “down on his luck.”

“Good-evenin’, friends,” he said.

“Good-evening,” responded Tom cordially. “Sit down with us, won’t you? I’ve got an extra pipe, if you would like a smoke.”

“Thank you; I’m just pinin’ for a smoke. Is this your tenement?”

“Well, we found it vacant, and squatted here. The owner hasn’t called on us for any rent yet.”

“You’re in luck.”

“Have you just arrived?”

“Yes, I have. I’m a rollin’ stone, and I haven’t gathered any moss.”

“There’s a good many in that fix.”

“Do you see that coin?” and the stranger took from his pocket a silver quarter and flipped it up in the air.

“Yes. Is there anything strange about it?”

“Well, there’s this – it’s the last and only piece of property now belonging to Nahum Stockton. If you are acquainted with the tax-collector, don’t mention it, for I wouldn’t like to be assessed on it.”

“I will respect your wishes, Mr. Stockton,” said Tom, laughing. “May I ask what are your plans?”

“If I can buy a claim for a quarter, I will settle down here and dig for gold.”

Tom looked at Grant, and Grant nodded, for he read his friend’s thought.

“Having so much money,” said Tom soberly, “you’d better buy a couple of claims.”

“That’s a good joke,” returned Stockton, with a grim smile.

“No joke at all! My friend and I own a couple of claims, and we leave Howe’s Gulch to-morrow. We will make them over to you without money and without price. As to a cradle, you can buy one on instalments.”