Originally published: 1873
Genres: Adventure, Western
Gutenberg link: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68673
Chapters: 12
Warning: This may include outdated and derogatory language and attitudes.
CHAPTER I
A BLOW IN THE DARK
"Well, Burr, any change today?"
"Yes—a great one."
"For better or worse?"
"The road will be open for us tomorrow. She's dying."
"Dying! is it possible? And the poor creature seemed so much better this morning."
"Listen—there!"
A quivering, pitiful wail came to their ears, proceeding from a small white tent, half-hidden beneath the low-hanging boughs of the grove. That cry told the two men, plainer than spoken words, the sad truth. It told of a household broken and dismembered; of a bereaved husband and daughter, of a dearly-beloved wife and mother who had journeyed thus far from the home of her childhood, only to find a lone grave upon the prairie, or beside the rock-bound rivulet that wound its noisy way adown the valley.
The two young men stood in silence, gazing toward the tent of mourning. They did not speak, though not a little agitated. And yet one of the two caught himself secretly exulting in the thought that now the greatest difficulty was removed from the path he had laid out to follow.
The little valley was studded here and there with diminutive tents, while white-tilted wagons stood grouped together in an oblong circle. These alone would have proclaimed the truth: a company of emigrants tenanted the valley.
Such sights were far from being uncommon in that year—1850. A year before, the Californian "gold fever" broke out. The first rush was made by men—young and old. But then the fever spread. It infected all—the result was but natural. Family followed family. Almost from ocean to ocean an unbroken train of emigrants toiled wearily on—on toward the glittering phantom that but too often vanished in thin air when seemingly just within their grasp, leaving naught behind but wrecked hopes and ruined fortunes.
One link of the mighty human chain lies before our eyes. For nearly a week this valley has sheltered them. While others pressed on in the road for the yellow delusion, this party had been lying motionless, longing for yet dreading the summons to resume their pilgrimage.
A few hasty words will explain.
This party of emigrants, numbering nearly one hundred souls, was under the command of Caleb Mitchell. He started from Eastern Ohio, in company with several of his neighbors, heading for the Land of Gold, taking with him his wife and daughter. Little by little the company grew to more respectable proportions, as stragglers joined it on the way, until now, as they entered the Foothills, they felt little fear of the red-skinned Ishmaelites of whom they had heard so many frightful tales.
Nearly a week before our story opens, a sad accident occurred. A rifle, suspended by leather strings in Mitchell's wagon, by some means, got discharged its contents lodging in Mrs. Mitchell's breast.
Since then she had been hovering between life and death. To continue their journey would be her certain death, and the kind-hearted emigrants would not abandon their leader in his distress, though each day of delay increased their danger of being overtaken by winter in the mountains. Thus for nearly a week they waited and watched. Slowly Mrs. Mitchell sunk, and now, on this day, her spirit took its departure. The daughter, Lottie, was the first to notice the presence of death, and it was her heartbroken wail that saluted the ears of the two young men, Burr Wythe and Paley Duplin.
"It is all over!" muttered Duplin, drawing a long breath.
"Poor girl—'twill just about kill her; she worshipped her mother," added Burr, his blue eyes winking rapidly.
"It is sad—but then, since it must be so, it's well that all is over. A long road lies before us, and the mountains must be crossed before the snow falls. The lives of all depend upon it."
"Mitchell knows that. He will not delay us any longer than is absolutely necessary. But come—there is work to do. We can help them."
"Wait, Burr. I must see you tonight, alone. I have something of great importance to tell you. Meantime, look at this—but, remember, don't breathe a word of your suspicions. Keep it hidden—at least until I say you may speak."
The young man, Duplin, seemed strongly excited for one of his usual phlegm. As he spoke, he thrust a small article into Wythe's hand, and renewing his caution, glided hastily away.
Wonderingly Burr bent over the stone—for such it seemed. But then a wild glow filled his eyes, lighting up his entire countenance, while his muscular form quivered like one under the influence of an ague-shock.
"Is it—can it be gold?" he gasped, huskily.
He too was a victim of the "yellow fever." It had lured him from his faraway home amidst the northern pines of Maine. It had proved stronger than the pleadings of his aged father and mother, stronger than the love of his sister and younger brother. He had left them all to chase up this glittering phantom; and now, for the first time, his eyes rested upon the substance of his dreams by day and by night.
Little wonder, then, that his heart beat fast and hard, that his brain throbbed hotly and his eyes gleamed with a wild light—with the long-smoldering fires of greed that might waken to avarice.
The little pebble lay in his palm, looking innocent enough. Its dull surface was scratched and cut here and there, as if by a knife-point. If gold, the nugget must be very pure.
"Hellow, old boy, what ye thinkin' so soberly 'bout, eh?" suddenly uttered a not disagreeable voice, as a heavy hand was placed upon Burr's shoulder, and a heavily-bearded face met his startled gaze.
Wythe started, and the nugget fell from his hand. Hastily he snatched it up, and thrust it into his pocket, but not before the keen black eyes of the newcomer had fallen upon it. In his agitation Burr did not notice the quick, suspicious flash that lighted up the man's face, else he might have used more caution.
"What is it to you, Nate Upshur?" and Wythe shook the hand from his shoulder with a gesture of dislike. "My thoughts are my own, and none the more agreeable for you thrusting yourself in upon them."
"You speak sharp words, youngster, but best weigh them better. You're not in the States, now, where a man's afeard to take up a cross word for fear o' the courts. Take a fool's advice, an' give a civil answer to a civil question, or you may chaince to run foul o' a snag, one o' these long-come-shortlys."
"And I hold myself ready to accommodate you, whenever you feel inclined to try it on, Nate Upshur. I hope that is plain enough for your comprehension," contemptuously added Burr, turning away.
Upshur bit his lip fiercely and fingered the brass-bound butt of the revolver at his waist, but made no attempt to draw it.
"Fer little I'd—but never mind, now. But I would like to know whar he got that—if it was gold."
As the broad red disk of the full moon rose above the eastern swell that night, it shone down upon a peculiarly weird and impressive scene in the little timber grove beside the creek. It was a burial in the wilderness.
Beneath a wide-spreading cottonwood tree, the grave had been dug. And now, gathered round the spot, with bowed and uncovered heads, stood or knelt every member of the wagon train, listening to the broken, sobbing words of the bereaved husband, Mr. Mitchell. His daughter, Lottie, was beside him, pale and care-worn, bearing up against the blow with a fictitious strength that threatened to give way at any moment.
There was scarcely a dry eye among all these, as the strong man broke down, and bowing his head, mingled his tears with those of his daughter. It was a moment of heart-crushing agony.
Lottie, who was completely exhausted, swooned, and was borne to the nearest tent by sympathizing friends. Mr. Mitchell, nerving himself to the task, completed the service, then stood by in silence while the dead was being hidden forever from mortal view. Then, in a low but steady voice, he spoke:
"I thank you, friends, for your kindness. I will not soon forget it. But now go and try to sleep. We can afford to lose no more time. Tomorrow day-dawn must see us once more upon the road. Go—leave me alone here for a minute."
"Come with me, Wythe, and you too, Tyrrel," muttered Paley Duplin. "There's something I'd like to talk over with you tonight."
"Is it about that piece—"
"Yes—but hist!" and Duplin glanced apprehensively around him. "We three are enough. I don't care for more in the secret—much less that man," and he nodded to where Nate Upshur stood leaning against a tree trunk, close at hand.
"Come, then; the knoll out yonder is the best place. No one could get within earshot of us, even should they try, without being seen."
"What's up, boys?" muttered Jack Tyrrel, a young rattle-brained Ohioan.
"Wait—you'll know soon enough."
Gaining the knoll spoken of, the three friends crouched down amid the tall, rank grass and lighted their pipes. Duplin was the first to break the silence.
"You looked at what I showed you, Burr?"
"Yes; it's gold. Where did you get it, Paley?"
"Gold—le's see," eagerly interrupted Tyrrel.
"Wait—the moon does not shine clear enough to show it now. Now, then, I want you to pay particular attention to what I say. Weigh it well in your minds, for on this night the whole course of our future lives may depend. That is, on how you decide. You understand?"
"Yes—that is, I would if I did; but I don't," muttered Jack, lugubriously. "Well, go on, anyhow."
"You know what we are going to California after?"
"Sure! After gold; the shining dust—the great blazing nuggets, big as a water-bucket. Those are what we're after of course."
"You'd know it when you found one, I suppose, Jack?" and Duplin smiled slightly.
"Bah! any fool knows gold."
"Well, I do. But, as I was about to say, I don't think there is any need for our going clear to California for what we can get closer."
"What—Duplin, what do you mean?" demanded Wythe, gazing keenly into his comrade's face.
"No, Burr; I'm an honest man if not a good one. You need not fear anything of that sort. But I'll tell you all now, on one condition. Promise me faithfully that neither one of you will ever breathe a word of my secret until after one year has passed. This, I mean, provided you refuse to accept my proposal, for if you do accept it, I know you'll keep silent. How is it—do you agree?"
"I reckon we can, Burr?"
"Yes; though I have not known you long, Duplin, I believe that you are an honest man. Then I promise you, on my honor as a man, that I will never, by word, sign nor hint, reveal what you confide to me as a secret."
"And I say the same; will swear to it, if you prefer," added Tyrrel.
"No. I can trust you without that. Well, then, listen—hist! I thought I heard a footstep," muttered Duplin, warningly.
"I guess it comes from the camp," suggested Burr, rising erect and gazing keenly around. "I can see nothing nearer than there."
"It may be; I suppose I am nervous. I wouldn't like for anyone to overhear what I'm about to say, for though enough for us three, it would go but a little way divided among the train."
"It?"
"By that, I mean what I have found—what I stumbled on this afternoon as I was coming back to camp. Boys—I've found a placer!"
"Eh—what?" stammered the two young men, completely amazed, though their thoughts had already reverted to some such revelation.
"'Tis true—I've found a gold placer—a pocket—a regular bed of gold!" panted Duplin, his eyes fairly blazing.
Wythe gazed keenly into Duplin's face, as though trying to decide whether or not he had gone crazy. Jack Tyrrel divided his glances between them, the while dolefully scratching his curly pate.
"Yes, think of that! A regular bed of gold, full of nuggets that are so pure you can mark them with a pin-point, almost. I could have filled my pockets in an hour."
"Where is it—where is it? Let's go there now before someone else steals it away! Come on; thunder and lightning, man, why don't you come?" muttered Tyrrel, half-angrily.
"Easy, Jack," and Duplin calmed his exultation by a desperate effort. "Do you want the whole train after us? No, no; we must work more cunningly than that. I've planned it all; listen, and I'll tell you what we must do."
"Wait, Paley," quietly interrupted Burr. "Begin at the beginning and tell it all. First, how came you to find this pocket?"
"You know I went out hunting, early this morning. Well, I had no luck, and it was past noon before I got a shot. Then I dropped a 'bighorn,' after an hour's work sneaking over the rocks. It fell down a precipice, and pretty soon I found a pass by which I could follow after. It was hard work, though, and I no sooner reached the valley, or basin, rather, than I began hunting for water.
"Half a mile distant, I saw what looked like the bed of a creek, and set off toward it. Such it proved, in fact, that the water was missing. I set off up its bed, hoping to find a water hole or something of the kind. Nearly a mile further up, the bed began to spread and grow more shallow. Then I knew that if I found water, it must be by digging for it.
"I did dig, in a dozen places, but all was dry. At one spot, I kept digging until I made a hole nearly shoulder deep, as the sand felt cool and damp. My knife struck on what seemed to be a pebble, and I pulled it out with one hand and flung it aside. As I did so, the sunlight glittered from its side, where my knife had struck. I looked—it was the lump you have, Wythe—and saw that it was gold!" and pausing, Duplin hurriedly brushed the sweat from his brow, though the night air was cool and bracing.
"Great Lord! go on—hurry up!" muttered Tyrrel, excitedly.
"One glance told me what it was. It was what I had journeyed over fifteen hundred miles in search of, and there it lay, in my hand. I tell you, boys, it nearly killed me—and I haven't got over it yet. I half believe now that I am asleep and only dreaming all this; I do, honestly.
"I did then, too. I sat there for a full hour, almost afraid to move, looking first at the hole, then at the nugget. I told myself over and over again, that I was a fool—that this was only a stray lump that had been dropped here by some Indians, years ago. And yet, even as I said so, the top sand seemed to melt away showing to me great masses of gold, pure and yellow, looking like petrified sunshine. Actually, for a time I believe that I was mad—gold crazy."
"Look here, Paley Duplin," muttered Jack Tyrrel, suspiciously, as the young man paused in his speech. "Better mind what you're about. If this is a joke—if you are making this all up just to have a laugh at us, I'll lick you clean out o' your boots! If I don't, then it's no matter!"
"It's no joke, Jack, my dear fellow, but sober earnest. Sometimes, though, I feel tempted to wish it was a joke."
"Duplin!"
"A fact. I don't know why, but there seems to be a cloud over me—I feel as though some great calamity was impending. Boys, you may laugh at me, but while I was thus stupefied, I saw my mother's spirit before me, beckoning me to leave the spot. She—it was crying, I thought, as though I was in peril. I saw it as plain as I see you now. I flung down the nugget and fled. Not far, though. Then I stopped. The bright, yellow devils seemed to beckon me back. I took a step forward, and she vanished. Then I went back to the hole," and as he spoke, Duplin trembled violently.
"And you found it then—the hole, I mean? It hadn't vanished?" whispered Jack, breathlessly.
"No," smiling faintly. "It was still there. I dug then, like a madman. I tore up the ground for a dozen feet around. Look—my fingers are worn to the quick. I found more nuggets—I found a dozen more, all larger than that, lying close together. I don't know how large the pocket may be, but I saw enough to feel sure that there is a great fortune there for each one of us; enough, at any rate, to make us independent for life."
"You thought of us, then, as sharers in the pocket with you?" queried Burr Wythe.
"No, not then. I only thought of myself, and of how I could secure the treasure without being suspected and robbed—for I believe that, in my madness then, I would have denied my own father a nugget from all that store. It was horrible—that sensation. I can realize now what a miser feels. God protect me from another such attack!" shuddered Duplin.
"But your plan—what do you intend to do?"
"I've weighed the matter well, and this is what I've decided upon. We three are enough. I selected you two because I knew that I could depend upon you. Our first move will be to desert the wagon train."
"Desert?"
"Yes. What is there to hinder us? Nothing. We are passengers, and our fare is already paid. We owe them nothing. They will be the gainers as well as we."
"How can we get our tools without exciting suspicion, though?"
"We don't need them. One pick-ax will be enough. We can shape wooden shovels with our knives. This, our blankets and weapons are all we need. Remember that what mining we do, will only be in the soft sand. The gold is in nuggets, not dust or scales, so there will be little or no washing to be done. As for food, a day's hunt will furnish enough to last us a week, with care in curing it. You see I've neglected nothing. True, we may encounter dangers and suffer privations, but no more here than there where we first started for.
"Two, or perhaps three weeks' work, then we can start for home. Two months, at the furthest—then we will be made men for life. Now you know all. What is your decision?"
"You say we must desert?" mused Wythe, thoughtfully.
"Yes. What excuse could we give? We must slip off tonight, without a word to anybody. I know what you are thinking of, Wythe. Nay, don't flush up so. 'Tis nothing to be ashamed of. She's a noble, true-hearted girl, and one that would be a rich prize for any man. I might have loved her myself, only that I had a talisman. In Ohio there is one waiting for me, who, please God, will one day be my wife," and Duplin, as he spoke, reverently uncovered his head.
"You are right, friend, and I'm not offended. But—I would like to speak a word to her before we go, just to keep her from thinking hard of us."
"You could not, Burr, without giving a broad clue to our purpose. She would not be able to see you tonight, anyhow, after her poor mother's death. You must have patience. Think how short the time will be if you do not fling this chance from you before you can go to her with a free heart and full hand."
"He talks good sense, Burr. Some other time will do to say goodbye in."
"Well, maybe it is for the best. I'd only make a fool of myself. Then, here's my hand. I'm with you, Duplin, for better or worse."
"I'm number three!" chimed in Tyrrel.
"Good! Now there only remains to collect our things. I'll see to the pick. I left mine out, today, after that. See to your arms and ammunition, and get a store of coffee. It's paid for, remember. Fill your pockets with cold grub, for they may make a search for us, though I hardly think it. Time's too precious for that. Go, now, and keep close guard over your tongues. 'Twould take but a trifle to direct suspicion when we are found gone, and then goodbye to our fortune."
"Trust us—we'll be wise as the dove, and so forth," muttered Tyrrel.
The three plotters glided away and soon rejoined the camp. Scarcely had they disappeared from view, when a dark figure cautiously raised itself above the level of the prairie grass, where it had been concealed in a hollow, and peered curiously after them, a low, disagreeable chuckle breaking from the black-bearded lips.
"Ho! ho! ho! Nate Upshur, you're in luck, my boy! Fust you see the nugget Wythe drops, then you hear Duplin whisper to him an' Tyrrel, and now, best of all, you hear the whole story! Thar's luck in odd numbers—and yet I'm goin' to have a finger in the pie, too."
Then he, too, proceeded stealthily toward the camp, by a circuitous route, entering unobserved.
That night, the sick camp was the scene of strange acts. And among them was one of terror—of cold-blooded, merciless crime.
As the bright moon sailed from behind a dense cloud, a dark figure silently crept into the shadow cast by a small white tent. From within, as the shadow paused, came the sound of calm, steady breathing. Then the door flap was raised—the black shadow cautiously glided into the tent, like a venomous serpent in human form. The flap falls behind the serpent, and all is still.
Then—a horrible sound breaks the stillness of the night—a faint, gasping, half-stifled groan of death-agony. Then the shadow reappears, bearing in one hand a blood-stained knife, in the other a small parcel that chinks metallic-like as it falls from its hand. Then all is still.
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