CHAPTER IV.
A FOILED ROBBER.
In the grand rush to the newly discovered gold-fields all classes wererepresented. There were men of education, representatives of all thelearned professions, men versed in business, and along with themadventurers and men of doubtful antecedents, graduates of prisons andpenitentiaries. Bill Crane, introduced in the last chapter, belonged tothe latter undesirable class. He had served a term at Sing-Sing as ahousebreaker, and later another term in a Western penitentiary. He hadcome to California with a prejudice against honest labor, and adetermination to make a living by the use of the peculiar talents onwhich he had hitherto relied. He had spent a week at River Bend, chieflyat the saloon of Missouri Jack, whom he found a congenial spirit, andhad picked up a little money from flats like the young Bostonian; but,on the whole, he had found it an unprofitable field for the exercise ofhis special talents.
"I must make a raise somehow," he bethought himself, "and then I'll maketracks for some other settlement."
Precisely how to raise the fund of which he stood in need was difficultto decide. Moneyed men were not plenty at River Bend. Captain Fletcherand his party had been at work but a short time, and were not likely tohave collected much.
As we know, Bill Crane overheard a part of the closing conversationbetween Tom and John Miles. From this he learned that Miles, besides hisown money, would be in charge of seventy-five dollars belonging to ouryoung hero. It was not much, but it was something.
"If the whole doesn't come to over two hundred dollars, I can make itdo," thought Crane. "It will get me out of this beastly hole, and carryme to San Francisco."
John Miles slept by himself under a small tent at the northern end ofthe small encampment. He looked like a man who ate well and slept well,and this would be favorable to Bill Crane, who proposed to effect therobbery in the night. He had half a mind to secure the aid of MissouriJack, but then Jack would expect to go shares in the "plunder," andthere was likely to be little enough for one. So Bill decided to makethe attempt alone.
In a small camp like that at River Bend, the movements and plans of eachindividual were generally known. So it was generally understood thatJohn Miles intended to start on Thursday for the city.
The previous evening he spent with Tom and Ferguson, with whom he wasmore intimate than any others of the party. He would not have been drawnto the Scotchman, but for his being Tom's room-mate. Through him he cameto appreciate and respect the Scot's sterling virtues, and to overlookhis dry, phlegmatic manner.
"I hope you'll have good luck, Mr. Miles," said Tom.
"Thank you, my boy."
"I would join with my young friend Tom," said Ferguson, "if I were quiteclear in my mind whether good luck is the right term to use."
"Don't you think some men are luckier than others, Mr. Ferguson?" askedTom.
"Some men are more successful, doubtless; but what we call good luck,generally comes from greater industry, good judgment, and, above all,the prompt use of opportunities."
"There is something in that," said Miles; "but when two men work side byside with equal industry, and one finds a nugget worth thousands ofdollars, while the other plods along at a few dollars a day, isn't theresome luck there?"
"It may be so," said the Scotchman, cautiously, "but such cases areexceptional."
"So one boy is born to an inheritance of wealth and another to aninheritance of hard work. Isn't there any luck there?"
"The luck may be on the side of the poor boy," was the reply. "He isfurther removed from temptation."
John Miles laughed.
"Well, at any rate, it seems you believe in luck after all. I am sureyou both wish me to be prosperous, whether you call it luck or by someother name. Tom, if I meet with any good opening that I think will suityou, I shall write you. You don't want to stay here, particularly?"
"No; the place is not so pleasant since these new people have come here.Missouri Jack isn't a neighbor that I like."
"He is exerting a bad influence," said Ferguson. "I am afraid Peabodyvisits him too often for his own good."
"He ought to have stayed in Boston," said Miles. "He is not the man forsuch a life as ours. He is too delicate to work, or thinks he is, and Isee no other reliable road to success."
"I saw Peabody reeling out of the saloon this afternoon," said Tom. "Iasked him if he considered it was 'high-toned' to drink in a saloon, asthat is the word he is always using, but he said it didn't make muchdifference out here, where he wasn't known."
"Peabody isn't overstocked with brains, though he does come fromBoston," said Miles.
Ten o'clock came, and Miles rose to go.
"I must have a good night's rest," he said, "for to-morrow night mustsee me many miles on my road. Tom, I will attend to that commission ofyours just as soon as I have the opportunity."
"Thank you, Mr. Miles."
John Miles walked slowly toward his tent. Arrived there, he threwhimself down on his rude couch, and in less than fifteen minutes, he wassound asleep. He had done his usual day's work, and made somepreparations for his journey besides, and these made slumber sweet andrefreshing.
Before settling himself for the night, however, Miles carefullydeposited a bag of gold-dust under his head, wrapped up in an extra pairof pantaloons. Had he known that Bill Crane had formed a plan to rob himthat very night, he would have taken extra precautions, but he was notinclined to be suspicious, or to anticipate danger.
Perhaps an hour later, Tom, who found himself unusually restless, got upfrom his hard couch, leaving Ferguson fast asleep, and went out intothe air, thinking that a walk would do him good and dispose him tosleep. The night was dark, but not wholly so. There was no moon, but afew stars were shining; and as his eyes became accustomed to the faintlight, he could easily distinguish objects at the distance of a fewrods.
Tom's thoughts reverted to his humble home, more than three thousandmiles away. Probably the fact that he had committed to John Miles a sumof money to send to his father, had turned his thoughts in thatdirection.
"Father will be glad to get the seventy-five dollars," thought Tom, "andI am sure he will need it. I wish it could get there more quickly, butit is a long way off."
Tom was not homesick, and was far from wishing himself back, with hisobject in coming yet unaccomplished, but it did occur to him, that hewould like to see his father and mother, and brothers and sisters, ifonly for a few minutes.
When he came out he had no particular direction in mind in which hewished to walk, but chance directed his steps toward the tent of hisfriend, John Miles.
When he came near it, his attention was arrested by the sight of acrouching figure which appeared to be entering the tent. His firstthought was, that Miles, like himself, had got up from his couch and wasjust returning. He was on the point of calling out "John," when a suddendoubt and suspicion silenced him.--"Might not it be a robber?"
Tom was determined to find out. He crept nearer, so that he could have aclearer view of the figure.
"It's Bill Crane!" he said to himself, with sudden recognition. "What'she up to?"
Tom could guess. He didn't know the man's antecedents, but he had readhis character aright. He was instantly on the alert. Crane evidently wason a thief's errand, and was likely to steal not only Miles's money butTom's. Our hero was alive to the emergency, and resolved to foil him. Hehad his revolver with him; for in the unsettled state of society, withno one to enforce the laws, and indeed no laws to enforce, it was thecustom for all men to go armed.
Tom was not long left in doubt as to Crane's intentions. He saw himcautiously pulling at something in the tent, and felt sure that it wasthe bag of treasure. He decided that the time had come to act.
"Put that back," he exclaimed in boyish, but clear, commanding tone.
Bill Crane turned suddenly, panic-stricken.
He saw Tom standing a few feet from him, with a revolver in his hand.
All was not lost. He might, he thought, intimidate the boy.
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"Mind your business, you young cub," he growled.
"What are you about?" demanded Tom.
"I am going to sleep with Miles. He invited me. Does that satisfy you?"
"No, it doesn't, for I know that it's a lie. You are here to rob him."
"You'd better not insult me, boy, or I'll have your life."
"Get up this instant and leave the tent, or I'll fire," said Tom,resolutely.
"A young cub like you can't frighten me. That shooting-iron of yoursisn't loaded," said Bill Crane, rather uneasily.
"It'll be rather a bad thing for you to take the risk," said Tom, with acoolness that surprised himself, for the situation was a strange one fora boy brought up in a quiet New England farming town.
"What do you want of me?" growled the desperado, uncomfortably, for hewas satisfied that the weapon was loaded, and Tom looked as if he wouldshoot.
"I want you to leave that tent at once," said Tom.
"Suppose I don't."
"Then I shall fire at you."
"And be hung for attempted murder."
"I think I could explain it," said our hero. "You know very well whatwill happen to you if you are caught."
Bill Crane did know. Hanging was the penalty for theft in the earlydays of California, and he had no desire to swing from the branch of atree.
"You're a young fool!" he said roughly, as he rose from his stoopingposture. "I wanted to ask Miles to do a little commission for me inFrisco. I had no thought of robbing him."
"You can see him in the morning about it," said Tom, resolutely.
"I'll be even with you for this," said the foiled thief, as he sullenlyobeyed the boy, half-ashamed to do so.
Tom went back to his tent, aroused Ferguson, and the two took turns inguarding the tent of Miles during the night. Tom did not wish to awakenhim, for he needed rest on the eve of a long and fatiguing journey.