"Let us go," he whispered to Hadley.
"If you wish to know whether I speak the truth," Ben concluded, "look inthe faces of those two men who have accused us."
The terror in the face of Bill Mosely was plainly to be seen. Suddenlythe minds of the fickle multitude veered round to the two accusers, andshouts arose: "The boy's right! Hang the thieves!"
Then Bill Mosely did perhaps the most unwise thing possible. His couragefairly broke down, and he started to run. Immediately a dozen men wereon his track. He was brought back, moaning and begging for mercy, butthe crowd was in no merciful mood. Victims they demanded, and when therope was brought the two wretched men were summarily suspended to thebranches of two neighboring trees.
They had fallen into the pit which they had prepared for others.
As for Ben, he became the hero of the hour. The miners raised him ontheir shoulders and bore him aloft in triumph to the hotel from which hehad so recently been dragged to execution.
CHAPTER XVIII.
AFTER THE EXECUTION.
While Ben rejoiced and lifted silent thanks to God for his narrow escapefrom a shameful death, he felt no satisfaction in the knowledge that themen who had basely conspired against them had suffered the like terriblefate. He averted his head in horror from the sight, and, innocent as hewas of fault, he felt depressed to think that his words had resulted inbringing this punishment upon them.
I have said that he was the hero of the hour. Boys were scarce inCalifornia, and the hearts of the miners warmed to him on account of hisyouth and the memories it called up of their own children far away.
A self-appointed committee waited upon him and asked him to stay withthem.
"We'll all help you along," they said. "We will make your share equalto that of the luckiest miner among us. You're true grit, and we respectyou for it. What do you say?"
"What shall I do, Jake?" he asked of Bradley.
"It's a fair offer, Ben. Perhaps you'd best stay. I'd stay too, only Iwant to see Dick Dewey safe in 'Frisco. When he and his gal are j'inedI'll come back and try my luck here."
"I will do the same, Jake. I want to go to San Francisco and see thelady who was so kind to me. I sha'n't feel that I've done all my dutytill I have seen her and Mr. Dewey united. Then I shall be ready to comeback."
"Tell 'em so, Ben."
Ben gave this answer to those who had asked him to stay, thanking themgratefully for their kind offer. His answer gave general satisfaction.
Ben could hardly realize that these very men had been impatient to hanghim only an hour before. He was thankful for this change in theirsentiments, though he did not pretend to understand it.
Bradley and Dewey, knowing the fickleness of a mining-community, were alittle apprehensive that their original suspicions might again bearoused, and that some among them might be led to think they had make amistake, after all, and hung the wrong men. That would be serious, andperhaps dangerous to them. They reflected that only Ben's speech hadturned the tide of sentiment, and the two thieves had been hung on theunsupported word of a boy. Might not this occur to some of the companyin some of their cooler moments? They decided in a secret conferencethat it would be best for them to get away early the next morning--thatis, as early as practicable--before any change had come over the mindsof their new friends.
Later, however, they were relieved from their momentary apprehension.
Two men who had been out hunting did not return to the camp till an hourafter the execution had taken place.
"What's happened? they asked.
"We've only been hangin' a couple of hoss-thieves," was answered coollyby one of their comrades. "We came near hangin' the wrong men, but wefound out our mistake."
The two hunters went to view the bodies of the malefactors, who werestill suspended from the extemporized gallows.
"I know them men," said one with sudden recognition.
"What do you know about them? Did you ever meet them?"
"I reckon I did. They camped with me one night, and in the morning theywere missing, and all my gold-dust too."
"Then it's true what the boy said? they're thieves, and no mistake?"
"You've made no mistake this time. You've hung the right men."
This fresh testimony was at once communicated to the miners, andreceived with satisfaction, as one or two had been a little in doubt asto whether the two men were really guilty. No one heard it with morepleasure than Dewey and Bradley, who felt now that they were completelyexonerated.
CHAPTER XIX.
BEN WINS LAURELS AS A SINGER.
Our party had no further complaint to make of ill-treatment. During theremainder of the evening they were treated with distinguishedconsideration, and every effort was made to make their sojourn pleasant.
As the miners gathered round a blazing log-fire built out of doors,which the cool air of evening made welcome, it was proposed that thosewho had any vocal gifts should exert them for the benefit of thecompany.
Three or four of those present had good voices, and sang such songs asthey knew.
Finally, one of the miners turned to Bradley. "Can't you sing ussomething, friend?" he asked.
"You don't know what you're asking," said Bradley. "My voice sounds likea rusty saw. If you enjoy the howlin' of wolves, mayhap you might likemy singin'."
"I reckon you're excused," said the questioner.
"My friend Dick Dewey will favor you, perhaps. I never heard him sing,but I reckon he might if he tried."
"Won't you sing?" was asked of Dewey.
Richard Dewey would have preferred to remain silent, but his life hadbeen spared, and the men around him, though rough in manner, seemed tomean kindly. He conquered his reluctance, therefore, and sang a coupleof ballads in a clear, musical voice with good effect.
"Now it's the boy's turn," said one.
Ben, was in fact, a good singer. He had attended a countrysinging-school for two terms, and he was gifted with a strong andmelodious voice. Bradley had expected that he would decline bashfully,but Ben had a fair share of self-possession, and felt there was no goodreason to decline.
"I don't know many songs," he said, "but I am ready to do my share."
The first song which occurred to him was "Annie Laurie," and he sang itthrough with taste and effect. As his sweet, boyish notes fell on theears of the crowd they listened as if spellbound, and at the end gavehim a round of applause.
I don't wish to represent that Ben was a remarkable singer. Hisknowledge of music was only moderate, but his voice was unusually strongand sweet, and his audience were not disposed to be critical.
He sang one song after another, until at last he declared that he wastired and would sing but one more. "What shall it be?" he asked.
"'Sweet Home,'" suggested one; and the rest took it up in chorus.
That is a song that appeals to the heart at all times and in all places,but it may well be understood that among the California mountains,before an audience every man of whom was far from home, it would have apeculiar and striking effect. The singer, too, as he sang, had histhoughts carried back to the home three thousand miles away where livedall who were near and dear to him, and the thought lent new tendernessand pathos to his song.
Tears came to the eyes of more than one rough miner as he listened tothe sweet strains, and there were few in whom home-memories were notexcited.
There was a moment's hush, and then a great roar of applause. Ben hadmade a popular success of which a prima donna might have been proud.
One enthusiastic listener wanted to take up a contribution for thesinger, but Ben steadily declined it. "I am glad if I have given any onepleasure," he said, "but I can't take money for that."
"Ben," said Jake Bradley, when the crowd had dispersed, "you've made twoten-strikes to-day. You've carried off all the honors, both as an oratorand a singer."
"You saved all our lives by that speech of yours, Ben," said Dewey. "Wewill not soon forget that."
"It was your ple
a for me that give me the chance, Mr. Dewey," said Ben."I owe my life, first of all to you."
"That does not affect my obligation to you. If I am ever in a situationto befriend you, you may count with all confidence upon Richard Dewey."
"Thank you, Mr. Dewey. I would sooner apply to you than any man Iknow--except Bradley," he added, noticing that his faithful comradeseemed disturbed by what he said.
Jake Bradley brightened up and regarded Ben with a look of affection. Hehad come to feel deeply attached to the boy who had shared his dangersand privations, and in all proved himself a loyal friend.
The next morning the three friends set out for San Francisco, carryingwith them the hearty good wishes of the whole mining-settlement.
"You have promised to come back?" said more than one.
"Yes," said Bradley; "we'll come back if we ain't prevented, and Ireckon we won't be unless we get hanged for hoss-stealin' somewhere onthe road."
This sally called forth a hearty laugh from the miners, who appreciatedthe joke.
"It's all very well for you to laugh," said Bradley, shaking his head,"but I don't want to come any nearer hangin' than I was last night."
"All's well that ends well," said one of the miners lightly.
Neither Ben nor Richard Dewey could speak or think so lightly of thenarrow escape they had had from a shameful death, and though theysmiled, as was expected by the crowd, it was a grave smile, with nomirth in it.
"You'll come back too, boy?" was said to Ben.
"Yes, I expect to."
"You won't be sorry for it.--Boys, let us stake out two claims for theboy and his friend, and when they come back we'll help them work themfor a while."
"Agreed! agreed!" said all.
So with hearty manifestations of good-will the three friends rode ontheir way.
"It's strange," observed Dewey, thoughtfully, "how this wild and lonelylife effects the character. Some of these men who were so near hangingus on the unsupported accusation of two men of whom they knew nothingwere good, law-abiding citizens at home. There they would not havedreamed of such summary proceedings."
"That's where it comes in," said Bradley. "It ain't here as it is there.There's no time here to wait for courts and trials."
"So you too are in favor of Judge Lynch?"
"Judge Lynch didn't make any mistake when he swung off them two rascals,Hadley and Bill Mosely."
"We might have been in their places, Jake," said Ben.
"That would have been a pretty bad mistake," said Bradley, shrugging hisshoulders.
CHAPTER XX.
A LITTLE RETROSPECT.
It will be remembered that a merchant in Albany, Mr. John Campbell, wasthe guardian of Miss Florence Douglas, whom our hero, Ben, had escortedfrom New York to San Francisco.
The disappearance of his ward was exceedingly annoying, since itinterfered with plans which he had very much at heart. He had an onlyson, Orton Campbell, now a young man of twenty-eight. He was young inyears only, being a stiff, grave, wooden-faced man, who in his starchedmanners was a close copy of his father. Both father and son wereexcessively fond of money, and the large amount of the fortune of theyoung lady, who stood to the father in the relation of ward, had excitedthe covetousness of both. It was almost immediately arranged betweenfather and son that she should marry the latter, either of her own freewill or upon compulsion.
In pursuance of this agreement, Mr. Orton Campbell took advantage of theward's residence in his father's family to press upon her attentionswhich clearly indicated his ultimate object.
Florence Douglas felt at first rather constrained to receive herguardian's son with politeness, and this, being misinterpreted, led toan avowal of love.
Orton Campbell made his proposal in a confident, matter-of-fact manner,as if it were merely a matter of form, and the answer must necessarilybe favorable.
The young lady drew back in dignified surprise, hastily withdrawing thehand which he had seized. "I cannot understand, Mr. Campbell," she said,"what can have induced you to address me in this manner."
"I don't know why you should be surprised, Miss Douglas," returned OrtonCampbell, offended.
"I have never given you any reason to suppose that I regarded you withfavor."
"You have always seemed glad to see me, but perhaps that was onlycoquetry," said Orton, in a disagreeable manner.
"I certainly have never treated you with more than ordinary politeness,except, indeed, as my residence in your father's house has necessarilybrought us nearer together."
"I don't think, Miss Douglas, you would find me a bad match," said theyoung man, condescending to drop his sneering tone and plead his cause."I am already worth a good sum of money. I am my father's partner, and Ishall become richer every year."
"It is not a matter of money with me, Mr. Campbell. When I marry, thatwill be a minor consideration."
"Of course, because you have a fortune of your own."
"Yes," said Florence, regarding him significantly, for she suspectedthat it was rather her fortune than herself that he desired, being nostranger to his love of money.
Perhaps he understood her, for he continued: "Of course I don't carefor that, you know. I should offer myself to you if you had nothing."
This Florence Douglas thoroughly disbelieved. She answered coldly, "Ithank you for the compliment you pay me, but I beg you to drop thesubject."
"I will wait."
"You will wait in vain. I will look upon you as a friend if you desireit, but there can be nothing more than friendship between us."
Orton Campbell was very much chagrined, and reported the result of hissuit to his father.
"I will speak to her myself," said the father. "As her guardian I oughtto have some influence with her."
He soon ascertained, however, that Florence Douglas had a will of herown.
After a time he dropped persuasion and had recourse to threats. "MissDouglas," he said, "I shall have to remind you that I am your guardian."
"I am quite aware of that fact, sir."
"And I shall remain in that position till you have completed yourtwenty-fifth year."
"That is quite true, sir."
"If you take any imprudent steps I shall think it necessary tointerfere."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"I shall not allow you to fall a prey to any designing fortune-hunter."
"You need not fear, sir: I am in no danger."
"I am of a different opinion. I am quite aware that Richard Dewey hasbeen seeking to ingratiate himself with you."
"Then," said his ward with dignity, "I have no hesitation in informingyou that he has succeeded."
"Ha! I thought so. That is why you rejected my son."
"Excuse me, sir: you are quite mistaken. I should refuse your son ifthere were no other man in the world likely to marry me."
"And what is the matter with my son, Miss Douglas?" demanded herguardian, stiffly.
Florence might have answered that he was too much like his father, butshe did not care to anger her guardian unnecessarily, and she simplyanswered, "It would be quite impossible for me to regard him as I wishto regard the man whom I hope to marry."
"But you could regard Richard Dewey in that way," sneered Campbell."Well, Miss Douglas, I may as well tell you that he asked my permissionyesterday to address you, and I ordered him out of my presence.Moreover, I have charged the servants not to admit him into the house."
"So you have insulted him, Mr. Campbell?" said his ward, her eyesflashing with resentment.
"It was the treatment which he deserved as an unscrupulousfortune-hunter."
"That word will better apply to your son," said the young lady, coldly."I shall not remain here to have Mr. Dewey insulted."
"You will repent this, Miss Douglas," said her guardian, with an uglyfrown. "Mark my words: I will keep you and Dewey apart. I have thepower, and I will exert it."
Two weeks later Richard Dewey sailed for California in search offortune, and five mon
ths later Miss Douglas, fearing that her guardianmight imprison her in a mad-house, escaped from his residence, and,aided by Ben, also managed to reach California. For a time Mr. Campbellwas entirely ignorant of her place of refuge. The next chapter will showhow he discovered it.
CHAPTER XXI.
MR. CAMPBELL RECEIVES TIDINGS OF HIS WARD.
"It is strange we can't find Florence," said Orton Campbell to hisfather one morning some months after the young lady's departure. "Isthere no clue?"
"The detective I have employed has failed to trace her."
"Has he no theory?"
"He suggests that she may have gone to Europe," said Mr. Campbell, "butI am not of that opinion."
"What do you think, then?"
"I suspect she has buried herself in some obscure country place undersome assumed name, there to remain till she has attained hertwenty-fifth year, when my guardianship ceases."
"When will that be?"
"Six months hence."
"It is very important, then, that we should find her before that time,"said Orton Campbell, thoughtfully.
"That is true. After the time referred to my power ceases, and I shallbe unable to assist you in your plans."