 CHAPTER XVII. A Curious and Valuable Draft. Lynch Law Applied. Black Gems Confession. Ned becomes a painter and finds a profession profitable as well as amusing. THE FIRST PORTRATE Next morning the travelers were up and away by daybreak, and in the afternoon they came upon a solitary miner who was prospecting in a gulch near the roadside. This word gulch is applied to the peculiarly abrupt short ravines which are a characteristic feature in Californian more than in any other mountains. The weather was exceedingly hot and the man took off his cap and wiped his streaming-brow as he looked at the travelers who approached him. "'Ah, you've got water there, I see,' cried Tom Collins, leaping off his horse, seizing a cup which stood on the ground full of clear water and draining it eagerly. "'Stop!' cried the man quickly. "'Why?' inquired Tom, smacking his lips. The miner took the empty cup and gazed inquiringly into it. "'You've drunk it every grain.' "'Drop,' you mean, suggested Tom, laughing at the man's expression. "'Of course I have him. Why not? There's plenty more of the same tap here.' "'Oh, I wouldn't mind the water,' replied the man. "'If you had only left the gold dust behind, but you finished that, too.' "'You don't mean it,' gasped Tom, while the questions flashed across his mind. "'Is gold dust poison? And if not, is it digestible?' "'How?' "'How much have I swallowed?' "'Only about two dollars.' "'It don't signify,' answered the man, joining in the burst of laughter to which Ned and Tom gave way on this announcement. "'I'm afraid we must owe you the sum, then,' said Ned, recovering his composure, for we have only one dollar left having been robbed last night, but as we mean to work in this neighborhood I dare say you will trust us.' The man agreed to this, and having directed the travelers to the settlement of Weaver Creek resumed his work while they proceeded on their way. Tom's digestion did not suffer in consequence of his golden draft, and we may hear remark for the benefit of the curious that he never afterwards experienced any evil effects from it. We may further add that he did not forget to discharge the debt. After half an hour's ride they came inside of a few straggling diggers from whom they learned that the settlement, or village, or town of Weaver Creek, was about two miles further on, and in a quarter of an hour they reached it. The spot on which it stood was wild and romantic, and bosomed among lofty wooded hills whose sides were indented by many a rich ravine and seemed by many a brawling water-course. Here digging was, as the miners have it, in full blast. Pick and shovel and cradle and long tom and prospecting-pan all were being plied with the utmost energy and with unwary perseverance. The whole valley was cut up and converted into a network of holes and mud heaps, and the mountain slopes were covered with the cabins, huts, and canvas tents of the miners. About the center of the settlement, which was a very scattered one, stood a log-house or cabin of somewhat larger dimensions than the generality of those around it. This was the grand hotel, restaurant, and gambling-house of the place, besides being the scene of the trials and executions that occasionally took place. Some such work was going forward when our travelers rode up, for the area in front of the hotel was covered with a large concourse of miners. I suspect they are about to try the poor wretches who attacked us last night, said Ned, dismounting at the door of the house. He had scarcely spoken when a couple of men ran towards them. Here you are, strangers! they cried. Come along and bear witness again them black guards. They're just about to be strung up. We'll look after your horses. The duty was a disagreeable one, but it could not be avoided. So Ned and Tom suffered themselves to be led into the center of the ring where the three culprits were standing already penient and with the ropes around their necks. For a short time silence was obtained while Ned stated the circumstances of the robbery and also the facts regarding the murder of which Black Jim had been previously found guilty. Then there was a general shout of straying them up with the varmints and such phrases, but a short respite was granted in consequence of Black Jim expressing a desire to speak with Ned sent in. What have you to say to me? inquired Ned in a low tone as he walked close up to the wretched men who, although his minutes on earth were numbered, looked as if he were absolutely indifferent to his fate. I've only just say, answered the culprits sternly, that of all the people I leave behind me in this world there's but one I wish I hadn't been bad to. And that's Kate Morgan. You know something of her, though you've never seen her. I know that. Tell her I—no. Tell her she'll find the gold I robbed her of at the foot of the pine tree behind the tent she's living in just now. And tell her that her little sister's not dead, though she don't believe me. I took the child to— Come, come, have dawn with your whisper and cried several of the bystanders who were becoming impatient of delay. Have patience, said Ned, raising his hand. The man is telling me something of importance. I've done, growled Black Jim, scowling on the crowd with a look of hate. I wish I hadn't said so much. The rope was tightened as he spoke, and Ned, turning abruptly on his heel, hurried away with his friend from the spot, just as the three robbers were run up and suspended from the branch of the tree, beneath and around which the crowd stood. Entering the inn and seating themselves in a retired corner of the crowded gambling-room, Ned and Tom proceeded to discuss their present prospects and future plans in a frame of mind that was by no means enviable. They were several hundreds of miles distant from the scene of their first home at the Diggings, without a dollar in their pockets and only a horse between them, with the exception of the clothes on their backs and Ned's portfolio of drawing materials, which he always carried slung across his shoulder. They had nothing else in the world. Their first and most urgent necessity was supper in order to procure which it behoved them to sell Tom's horse. This was easily done as on application to the landlord they were directed to a trader who was on the point of setting out in an expedition to Sacramento City and who readily purchased the horse for less than half its value. Being thus put in possession of funds sufficient at least for a few days, they sat down to supper with relieved minds and afterwards went out to stroll about the settlement and take a look at the various Diggings. The miners here worked chiefly at the bars or sand-banks thrown up in various places by the river, which coursed through their valley, but the labor was severe, and the return not sufficient to attract impatient and sanguine miners, although quite remunerative enough to those who wrought with steady perseverance. The district had been well worked, and many of the miners were out prospecting for new fields of labor. A few companies had been formed, and these by united action and with the aid of long Tom's were well rewarded, but single-diggers and pan-washers were beginning to become disheartened. Our prospects are not bright, observed Tom's sitting down on a rock close to the hut of a Yankee who was delving busily in a whole hard buy. True, answered Ned, in one sense they are not bright, but in another sense they are, for I never yet in all my travels be held so beautiful and bright a prospect of land and water as we have from this spot. Just look at it, Tom. Forget your golden dreams for a little if you can, and look abroad upon the splendid face of nature. Ned's eye brightened as he spoke for his love and admiration of the beauties and charms of nature amounted almost to a passion. Tom also was a sincere admirer of lovely and especially a wild scenery, although he did not express his feeling so enthusiastically. Have you got your colors with you? he inquired. I have, and if you have patience enough to sit here for half an hour I'll sketch it. If not, take a stroll and you'll find me here when you return. I can admire nature for even longer than that period, but I cannot consent to watch a sketch of nature even for five minutes, so I'll take a stroll. In a few minutes Ned, with book on knee and pencil in hand, was busily engaged in transferring the scene to paper, oblivious of gold and prospects and everything else, and utterly ignorant of the fact that the Yankee digger, having become curious as to what the stranger could be about, had quitted his hole and now stood behind him quietly looking over his shoulder. The sketch was a very beautiful one, for in addition to the very character of the scenery and the noble background of the Sierra Nevada, which here presented some of its wildest and most fantastic outlines, the half-ruined hut of the Yankee with the tools and other articles scattered around it formed a picturesque foreground. We have elsewhere remarked that our hero was a good draftsman. In particular he had a fine eye for color and always when possible made colored sketches during his travels in California. On the present occasion the rich warm glow of sunset was admirably given, and the Yankee stood gazing at the work transfixed with amazement and delight. Ned first became aware of his proximity by the somewhat startling exclamation uttered close to his ear. "'Wall stranger, you ere a scrammer, that's a fact!' "'I presume you mean that for a compliment,' said Ned, looking up with a smile at the tall, wiry sunburnt red flannel-shirted straw-headed creature that leaned on his pickaxe beside him. "'No, I don't. I ain't used to butter nobody.' "'I guess you've been raised to that sort of thing.' "'No, I merely practice it as an amateur,' answered Ned, resuming his work. "'Now that is curious,' continued the Yankee, and I'm conned or sorry to hear it, for if he was professional I'll give you an order.' Ned almost laughed out right at this remark, but he checked himself as the idea flashed across him that he might perhaps make his pencil useful in present circumstances. "'I'm not professional as yet,' he said gravely, but I have no objection to become so if art is encouraged in these diggings. "'I guess it will be if you show your work.' "'Now, what will you ask for that bit?' This was a home-question and a poser, for Ned had not the least idea of what some he ought to ask for his work, and at the same time he had a strong antipathy to that species of haggling, which is usually prefaced by the seller with the reply, "'What will you give?' There was no other means, however, of ascertaining the market value of his sketch, so he put the objectionable question. "'I'll give you twenty dollars, slick off.' "'Very good,' replied Ned. "'It shall be yours in ten minutes.' "'And I say, stranger,' continued the Yankee, while Ned put the finishing touches to his work, "'Will you do the inside of my hut for the same money?' "'I will,' replied Ned. The Yankee paused for a few seconds and then added, "'I'd like to get myself thrown into the bargain, but I guess she'll ask more for that. "'No, I won't. I'll do it for the same sum.' "'Thank ye, that's all square. "'You see, I've got a mother in Ohio State, and she'd give her ears for any scrap of a thing on me or my new home, and if you'll get them both fixed off by the day after tomorrow, I'll send them down to Sacramento by Sam Scott, the traitor. "'I'll rig out and fix up the hut tomorrow morning, so if you come by breakfast time, I'll be ready.' "'Ned promised to be there at the appointed hour, as he rose and handed him the sketch, which the man, having paid the stipulated sum, carried away to his hut with evident delight. "'Hello,' I say,' cried Ned. "'Well,' answered the Yankee, stopping with a look of concern as if he feared the artist had repented of his bargain. "'Mind you, tell no one my prices, for, you see, I've not had time to consider about them yet.' "'All right. Mum's the word,' replied the man, vanishing into his little cabin, just as Tom Collins returned from his ramble. "'Hello, Ned. What's that I hear about prices? I hope you're not offering to speculate in half-finished holes or anything of that sort, eh?' "'Sit down here, my boy, and I'll tell you all about it.' "'Tom obeyed, and with a half-surprised and more than half-amused expression listened to his companion's narration of the scene that had just taken place and of the plan which he had formed in his mind. This plan was carried out the following day. By daybreak Ned was up repairing his drawing materials. Then he and Tom breakfasted at the Tobbledote, after which the latter went to hunt for a suitable log hut in which to carry on their joint labours, while the former proceeded to fulfill his engagement. Their nights lodging and breakfast made a terribly large gap in their slender fortune, for prices at the time happened to be enormously high, and consequence of expected supplies failing to arrive at the usual time. The bill at the hotel was ten dollars a day per man, and provisions of all kinds were so dear that the daily earnings of the miners barely suffice to find them in the necessarys of life. It therefore behoved our friends to obtain a private dwelling and remunerate of work as fast as possible. When reaching the little log hut, Ned found the Yankee ready to receive him. He wore a clean, new red-planel shirt with a blue silk kerchief around the throat, a broad brimmed straw hat, corduroys, and fisherman's long boots. To judge from his gait and a self-satisfied expression of his bronze countenance, he was not a little proud of his personal appearance. While Ned arranged his paper in colours and sharpened the point of his pencil, the Yankee kept up a running commentary on men and things in general, rocking himself on a rudely constructed chair the while and smoking his pipe. The hut was very small, not more than twelve feet by eight, and just high enough inside to permit of a six-foot man grazing the beams when he walked direct. But although small, it was exceedingly comfortable. Its owner was his own architect and builder being a jack of all trades, and everything about the wooden edifice be tokened to the hand of a thorough workman who cared not for appearance, but was sensitively alive to comfort. Comfort was stamped in unmistakable characters on every article of furniture and on every atom that entered into the composition of the Yankee's hut. The logs of which it was built were undressed, they were not even barked, but those edges of them that lay together were fitted and beveled with such nicety that the keenest and most searching blast of north wind failed to discover an entrance and was driven baffled and shrieking from the walls. The small fireplace and chimney composed of mud and dry grass were rude in appearance, but they were substantial and well calculated for the work they had to perform. The seats, of which there were four, two chairs, a bench, and a stool, were of the plainest wood in the simplest form, but they were solid as rocks, and no complaining creak when heavy men sat down on them be tokened bad or broken constitutions. The little table, two feet by sixteen inches, was in all respects worthy of the chairs. At one end of the hut there was a bed-place big enough for two. It was variously termed a crib, a shelf, a tumble-in, and a bunk. Its owner called it a snoozery. This was a model of plainness and comfort. It was a mere shell, about two and a half feet broad, projecting from the wall, to which it was attached on one side, the other side being supported by two wooden legs, a foot high. A plank at the side, and another at the foot in conjunction with the walls of the cottage, converted the shelf into an oblong box. But the mattress of this rug couch was formed of buffalo skins covered with thick, long, luxurious hair, above which were spread two large green mac-and-all blankets of the thickest description, and the canvas pillow case was stuffed with the softest down purchased from the wild fowl of California with lead and coin transmitted through the Yankees' unerring rifle. There was a fishing-ride in one corner, a rifle in another, a cupboard in a third, poles and spears, several unfinished axe-handles, and a small fishing-net lay upon the rafters overhead, while various miscellaneous articles of clothing and implements for mining hung on pegs from the walls or lay scattered about everywhere. But in the midst of apparent confusion, comfort reigned supreme, for nothing was placed so as to come in one's way. Everything was cleverly arranged, so as to lie close and fit in. No article or implement was superfluous. No necessary of a miner's life was wanting. An air of thorough completeness invested the hut in everything about it. And in the midst of all sat the presiding genius of the place, with his long legs comfortably crossed, the tobacco wreath circling round his lantern jaws, the broad-brimmed straw-hat caught jauntly on one side, his arms akimbo, and his rather languid black eyes gazing at Ned Zinton with an expression of comfortable self-satisfaction and assurance that was quite comforting to behold. Well, mister, if you're ready, I guess you'd better fire away. One second more and I shall commence, replied Ned. I beg pardon, may I ask your name? Jefferson. Able Jefferson to command, answered the Yankee, relighting the large clay pipe which he had just filled, and stuffing down the glowing tobacco at the end of his little finger as slowly and deliberately as though that member were a salamander. What's your'n, Edward Sinton? Now, mister Jefferson, in what position do you intend to sit? Just as I'm sitting now. Then you must sit still, at least for a few minutes at a time, because I can't sketch you while you keep rocking so. No? Now that's a pity, for I never sits no other way when I'm to home, and it would look more natural and relight to the old woman if I was draught rocking. However, fire away and sing out when you want me to stop. Mind you, put in the hole of me, none of your half-links. I never goes in for half-links. I always goes the whole length, and a little shave more. Me that you don't forget the mole on the side of my nose. My poor dear old mother wouldn't believe it was me if the mole weren't there as big as life, with the two hairs in the middle of it. And I say, mister, mind that I hate flatters, so don't flatter me no how. It wouldn't be easy to do, thought Ned as he plied his pencil, but he did not deem it advisable to give expression to his thoughts. Now then, sit still for a moment, said Ned. The Yankee instantly let the front legs of his chair come to the ground with a bang, and gazed right before him with that intensely grave cataleptic stare that is wont to overspread the countenances of men when they are being photographed. Ned laughed inwardly and proceeded with his work in silence. I guess they are Sam at the door, said Abel Jefferson, blowing a cloud of smoke from his mouth that might have made a small cannon envious. The door flew open as he spoke, and Sam Scott, the trader, strode into the hut. He was a tall, raw-boned man with a good humor but intensely impudent expression of countenance, and tanned to a rich dark brown by constant exposure to the weather in the prosecution of his arduous calling. Hello, stranger, what are you up to, inquired Sam, sitting down on the bench behind Ned and looking over his shoulder? Ned might perhaps have replied to this question despite its unceremoniousness, had not the Yankee followed it up by spitting over his shoulder into the fireplace. As it was he kept silence and went on with his work. What I do declare, continued Sam, if you ain't foretold here as small as life, mullin' all like nothin' I say, stranger, ain't you a Britisher? Sam again followed up his question with a shot at the fireplace. Yes, answered Ned somewhat angrily, and I am so much of a Britisher that I positively object to your spitting past my ear. No, you don't, do you? Now that is curious. I do believe a few Britishers had your own way, you'd not let us spit at all. What are you better than way that you hold your head so high and give yourself such heirs? That's what I want to know. Ned's disgust, having subsided, he replied. If we do hold our heads high it is because we are straightforward and not afraid to look any man in the face. As to giving ourselves heirs, you mistake our natural reserve and dislike to obtrude ourselves upon strangers for pride, and in this respect at least if in no other we are better than you, we don't spit all over each other's floors and close past each other's noses. Well, now, stranger, if you choose to be reserved and we choose to be free and easy, where's the differ? Keep a right to have our own customs and do as we please as well as you, I guess. Hare, hare! cried Abel Jefferson, commencing to rock himself again and to smoke more violently than ever. What say you to that, mister? Only this answered Ned as he put the finishing touches to his sketch, that whereas we claim only the right to do to him with ourselves what we please, you Yankees claim the right to do to him with everybody else which you please. I have no objection whatever to your spitting, but I do object to your spitting over my shoulder. Do you, said Sam Scott in a slightly sarcastic tone, and suppose I don't stop firing over your shoulder what then? I'll make you, replied Ned, waxing indignant at the man's cool impudence. How, inquired Sam, Ned rose and shook back the flaxen curls from his flushed face as he replied, by opening the door and kicking you out of the hut. He repented of the hasty expression the moment it passed his lips, so he turned to Jefferson and handed him the drawing for inspection. Sam Scott remained seated. Whether he felt that Ned was thoroughly capable of putting his threatened execution or not we cannot tell, but he evinced no feeling of anger as he continued the conversation. Ah, guess if you did that you'd have to fight me, and you'd find me pretty smart with the bow and knife and the revolver, either in the dark or in daylight. Sam here referred to the custom prevalent among the Yankees in some parts of the United States of dueling with bowy knives or with pistols in a darkened room. And suppose, answered Ned with a smile, suppose that I refuse to fight what then? Why, then you'd be cold and cowered all over the Diggins, and you'd have to fight to clear your character. And suppose I didn't care a straw for being cold and cowered, and wouldn't attempt to clear my character. Why, then, I guess I'd have to kick you in public till you were obligated to fight. But suppose still further, continued Ned, assuming the air of a philosopher discussing a profoundly abstruse point in science, suppose that, being the stronger man, I should prevent you from kicking me by knocking you down. What then? Why, then, I'd be compelled to snuff you out slick off. Sam Scott smiled as he spoke and touched the handle of his revolver. Which means, said Ned, that you would become a cold-blooded murderer. So you Britishers call it. And so Judge Lynch would call it, if I am not mistaken, which would ensure you're being snuffed out, too, pretty effectually. Wrong you are, stranger, replied the traitor. Judge Lynch regards affairs of honors in a very different light, I guess. I don't think he'd scrag me for that. Further investigation of this interesting topic was interrupted by Abel Jefferson, who had been gazing in rapt admiration at the picture for at least five minutes, pronouncing the work FUSRITE, emphatically. It's just what'll warm up the old woman's heart like a big fire on a winter day. Won't she screech when she claps her peepers on it and go yell and round among the neighbors showing the picture of her boy Abel and his house at the gold-diggins. The two friends commented pretty freely on the merits of the work without the smallest consideration for the feelings of the artist. Fortunately they had nothing but good to say about it. Sam Scott indeed objected a little to the sketchy manner in which some of the subordinate accessories were touched in and remarked that the two large hairs on the mole were almost invisible, but Jefferson persisted in maintaining that the work was FUSRITE and FAUTLESS. The stipulated sum was paid, and Ned, bidding his new friend's good morning, returned to the inn for the purpose of discussing dinner and plans with Tom Collins. CHAPTER XVIII OF THE GOLDEN DREAM This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Golden Dream by R. M. Ballantine. CHAPTER XVIII Ned's new profession pays admirably. He and Tom wax philosophical. Pat comes for a landscape of himself. Lynch Law and the Doctors. Ned Sitters. A Yankee swell receives a gentle rebuff. The ups and downs and the outcent ends of life are, as everyone is aware, exceedingly curious, sometimes pleasant, often the reverse, and not infrequently abrupt. On the day of their arrival at the settlement Ned and Tom were almost beggars, a dollar or two being all the cash they possessed besides the gold dust swallowed by the latter, which being as Tom remarked, sunk money was not available for present purposes. One week later they were, as Abel Jefferson expressed it, driving a roaring trade in pictures, and in the receipt of fifty dollars or ten pounds a day. Goods and provisions of all kinds had been suddenly thrown into the settlement by speculators so that living became comparatively cheap. Several new unprofitable diggings had been discovered in consequence of which gold became plentiful, and the result of all was the Edward Stanton Esquire portrait and landscape painter had more orders than he could accept at almost any price he chose to name. Men who every Saturday came into the settlement to throw away their hard earned gains in the gambling houses or to purchase provisions for the campaign of the following week were delighted to have an opportunity of procuring their portraits and were willing to pay any sum for them, so that had our hero been so disposed he could have fleeced the miners to a considerable extent. But Ned was not so disposed, either by nature or necessity. He fixed what he considered fair remunerative prices for his work, according to the tariff of the diggings, and so arranged it that he made as much per day as he would have realized had he been the fortunate possessor of one of the best claims in the neighborhood. Tom Collins, meanwhile, went out prospecting and speedily discovered a spot of ground which when wrought with a pan turned him in twenty dollars a day, so that in the course of a fortnight our adventurers found themselves comparatively rich men. This was satisfactory, and Ned admitted as much one morning to Tom as he sat on a three-legged stool in his studio, i.e., a dilapidated long hut, preparing for a sitter, while the latter was busily engaged in concluding his morning repast of damper pork and beans. There's no doubt about it, Tom, said he, pegging a sheet of drawing paper to a flat board. We are rapidly making our fortunes, my boy. But, do you know, I'm determined to postpone that desirable event and take to rambling again. There you go, said Tom somewhat testily as he lit a cigar and laid down on his bed to enjoy it. You are never content. I knew it wouldn't last. You're a rolling stone and will end in being a beggar. Do you really mean to say that you intend to give up a lucrative profession and become a vagrant? For such you will be if you take to wandering about the country without any object in view. Indeed I do, answered Ned. How often am I to tell you that I don't and won't consider the making of money the chief good of this world? Doubtless it is an uncommonly necessary thing, especially to those who have families to support, but I am firmly convinced that this life was meant to be enjoyed, and I mean to enjoy it accordingly. I agree with you, Ned, hardly. But if everyone enjoyed life as you proposed to do and took to rambling over the face of the earth, there would be no work done and nothing could be had for lover money except what grew spontaneously. And that would be a joyful state of things, wouldn't it? Tom Collins, indulging the belief that he had taken up an unassailable position, propelled from his lips a long thin cloud of smoke and smiled through it at his friend. Your style of reasoning is rather wild to say the least of it, answered Ned as he rubbed on his colors on the bottom of a broken plate. In the first place you assumed that I proposed to spend all my life in rambling, and in the second place you found your argument on the absurd supposition that everybody else was finding their sole enjoyment in the same occupation. How I wish, sighed Tom Collins, smoking languidly, that there was no such thing as reasoning. You would be a much more agreeable fellow, Ned, if you didn't argue. It takes two to make an argument, remarked Ned. Well, but couldn't you converse without arguing? Certainly, if you would never contradict what I say nor make an incorrect statement nor draw a wrong conclusion nor object to being contradicted when I think you're in the wrong. Tom sighed deeply and drew comfort from his cigar. In a few minutes he resumed. Well, but what do you mean by enjoying life? Ned sent and pondered the question a few seconds and then replied, I mean this. The way to enjoy life is to do all the good you can by working just enough to support yourself and your family, if you have one, to assist in spreading the gospel and to enable you to help a friend in need and to alleviate the condition of the poor, the sick, and the destitute. To work for more than this is to be greedy. To work for less is to be reprehensibly lazy. This amount of work being done meant ought to mingle with their fellow-creatures and wander abroad as much as may be among the beautiful works of their creator. A very pretty theory, doubtless, replied Tom, but pray in what manner will your proposed ramble advance the interests of religion or enable you to do the extraordinary amount of good you speak of? There you go again, Tom, you ask me the abstract question, what do you mean by enjoying life? And when I reply, you object to the answer as not being applicable to the present case. Of course it is not, I did not intend it to be. The good I mean to do in my present ramble is chiefly if not solely to my own body and mind. Stop, my dear fellow, interrupted Tom, don't become energetic. I accept your answer to the general question, but how many people think you can afford to put your theory in practice? Very, very few, replied Ned earnestly, but that does not affect the truth of my theory. Men will toil night and day to accumulate gold until their bodies and souls are incapable of enjoying the good things which gold can purchase, and they are infatuated enough to plume themselves on this account as being diligent men of business, while others, alas, are compelled thus to toil in order to procure the bare necessaries of life. But these melancholy facts do not prove the principle of grind and toil to be a right one, much less do they constitute a reason for my refusing to enjoy life in the right way when I have the power. Tom made no reply, but the vigorous puffs from his cigar seemed to indicate that he pondered these things deeply. A few minutes afterwards Ned's expected sitter entered. He was a tall, burly Irishman, with a red flannel shirt open at the neck, a pair of huge long boots, and a wide awake. The top of the morning to yeas, said the man pulling off his hat as he entered. Good morning, friends, said Ned as Tom Collins rose, shouldered his pick and shovel and left the hut. You are punctual, and deserve credit for so good a quality. Pray sit down. Five, and I don't know what a quality is, but if it's a good thing I have no objection, replied the man, taking a seat on the edge of the bed which Tom had just vacated. I was wanting to at-see, sir, if you could put in me pick and shovel in the landscape. In the landscape, Pat exclaimed Ned, addressing his visitor by the generic name of the species. I thought she wanted a portrait. Charles, then, I don't know which it is, you call it, but I want a picture on myself all over from the top of me hat to the sole of me boots. Isn't that a landscape? No, it's a portrait. Then it's a portrait I want, and if you'll put in the pick and shovel I'll give you two dollars apace for them. I'll put them in Pat for nothing, replied Ned, smiling as he commenced his sketch. I suppose you intend to send this to some fair one in Old Ireland? Pat did not reply at once. Sure, said he slowly. I never thought of her in that way before, but maybe she was fair once. Well, she's been almost as black as a bulgur for half a century. It's for me, Grandmother, I wanted. Your grandmother? That's curious now. The last man I painted meant to send the likeness to his mother. Not so curious, neither, replied the man with some feeling. It's my opinion the farther a man goes from the old country and the rougher he becomes with scraping up and down through the world, the more tinder his heart gets when he thinks of his mother. Me old mother died when I was a bit spa-pain, and I lived with me Grandmother blizzard heart ever since, at least till I took to wandering, which was ten years past. So long? Pat, you must have wandered far in that time. Have you ever been away far into the interior of this country, among the mountains in the course of your wanderings? Among the mountains is it, and date I have just, and the most tremendous beautiful sight it is. What's your going there? I've been thinking about it. Is the shooting good? Shooting, aha, if you'd been with me in Bill Simmons two summers ago, you'd have had more nor enough of shooting. The grisly's are thick as pays, and the buffalo swarm in the valleys like mosquitoes, not to mention wolves and beavers, and badgers and deer and such like. For by the Red Engines we shot six of them critters about the legs and arms and self-defense, and they shot us too. They put an arrow-dane through the point of Bill's nose, and one ripped up me left arm it did. Pat bared the brawny limb and exhibited the wound as he spoke. Shooting is it. Fie, there's the hoist of shooting there, and no end of sanary. The conversation was interrupted at this point by the door being burst violently open, and several men rushing into the hut. They grasped the Irishman by the arms and attempted to drag him out, but Pat seized hold of the plank on the edge of which he sat and refused to move at first. Come along, boy, cried one boisterously. We're going to lynch a doctor, and we want you to swear to him. I am to swear at him, too, if you like. He's a regular chate, been killing us off by the dozen as cool as you like and pretending to be an MD all the time. There's more than one, cried another man, seizing Pat again by the arm. Won't you come, man? Ah, of course I will. If it's to do any good to the public, I'm your man. Hooray for the people in Dom with the heiress stock, grassy. This sentiment was received with a shout of delight in several exclamations of bah as the party hurried in a body from the studio. Ned, having thus nothing to do, rose and followed them towards the center of the settlement where a large crowd was collecting to try the unhappy doctors above referred to. There were six of them, all disreputable-looking rascals who had set up for doctors and had carried on a thriving business among the sick miners, of whom there were many at that time, until a genuine doctor arrived at the place and discovered and exposed them. The miners were fortunately not bloodthirsty at this time, so the six self-dubbed MDs, instead of being hanged, were banished forever from the settlement. Half an hour later the miners were busy in their respective claims, and Ned Centon was again seated before his landscape of the Irishman. Just as he was completing the sketch, the door opened slowly, and a very remarkable man swaggered into the room and spat on the center of the floor. He was dressed in the extreme of the fashion, then prevalent in the eastern states, a superfine black coat, silk vest, superfine black trousers, patent leather boots, kig gloves, and a black silk hat. A more unnatural apparition at the diggings could not well be imagined. Ned Centon could hardly credit his eyes, but no rubbing of them would dispel the vision. There he stood, a regular Broadway swell, whose love of change had induced him to seek his fortune in the gold regions of California and whose vanity had induced him to retain his drawing-room costume. This man, besides being possessed of a superabundance of super silliest impudence, also possessed a set of digging tools, the handles of which were made of polished oak and walnut with bright brass ferrules. With these he proposed to dig his fortune in a leisurely way. Meanwhile, finding the weather rather hot, he had made up his mind to have his portrait done. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, this gentleman shut the door with his heel, turned his back to the fireplace, from the mere force of habit, for there was no fire, and again spat up on the floor, after which he said, I say, stranger, what's your charge for a likeness? You will excuse me, sir, answered Ned, if before replying to that question I beg of you not to spit on my floor. The Yankee uttered an exclamation of surprise and asked, Why not, stranger? Because I don't like it. You wouldn't have me spit in my hat, would you, inquired the Dandy? Certainly not. Where, then? Ned pointed to a large wooden box which stood close to the fireplace and said, There, I have provided a box for the accommodation of those sitters who indulge in that disagreeable practice. If you can't avoid spitting, do it there. Well now, you Britishers are strange critters. But you haven't told me your price for a portrait. I fear that I cannot paint you at any price, replied Ned, without looking up from his paper, while Pat listened to the conversation with a comical leer on his broad countenance. Why not, stranger? Asked the Dandy in surprise. Because I'm giving up business and don't wish to take any more orders. Then I'll sit here, I guess, and look at you while you knock off that one, so the man sitting down close to Ned's elbow and again spitting on the floor. Whether he did so intentionally or not, we cannot tell. Probably not. The effect upon Ned was so strong that he rose deliberately open the door and pointed to the passage thus set free without uttering a word. His look, however, was quite sufficient. The Dandy rose abruptly and walked out in silence, leaving Ned to shut the door quietly behind him and return to his work, while the Irishman rolled in convulsions of laughter on Tom Collins's bed. Ned's sitters, as we have hinted, were numerous and extremely various. As he was visited by sentimental and homesick miners, and occasionally by dandy miners such as we have described, but his chief customers were the rough hearty men from Old England, Old Ireland, and from the western states, with all of whom he had many a pleasant and profitable hours' conversation, and from many of whom, especially the latter, he obtained valuable and interesting information in reference to the wild regions of the interior which he longed so much to see. CHAPTER 19 The Wilderness Again A splendid valley, gigantic trees and waterfalls. Some meets with an accident, both meet with many surprises, mysteries, caverns, doleful sounds, and grizzly bear-catchers. Mounted on gallant steeds, Ned and his friend again appear in the wilderness in the afternoon of a beautiful autumn day. They had ridden far that day. Thus covered their garments and foam bespattered the chests of their horses, but the spirits of men and beasts were not yet subdued for their muscles by long practice were enured to hardship. Many days had passed since they left the scene of their recent successful labours, and many a weary league had been traversed over the unknown regions of the interior. They were lost, in one sense of that term, charmingly romantically lost, that is to say neither Ned nor Tom had the most distant idea of where they were or what they were coming to, but both of them carried pocket compasses and they knew that by appealing to these and to the daily jotting of the route they had traveled they could ascertain pretty closely the direction that was necessary to be pursued in order to strike the great San Joaquin River. Very different was the scenery through which they now rode from that of the northern diggings. The most stupendous and magnificent mountains in the world surrounded on all sides the valley through which they passed, giving to it an error of peaceful seclusion. Yet it was not gloomy, for the level land was broad and fertile, and so varied an aspect that it seemed as though a beautiful world were enclosed by those mighty hills. Large tracks of the valley were covered with wild oats and rich grass, affording excellent pastridge for the deer that roamed about in large herds. Lakes of various sizes sustained thousands of wildfowl on their calm breast, and a noble river coursed down its entire length. Oaks, chestnuts, and cypresses grew in groups all over the landscape, and up on the hillsides furs of gigantic size reared their straight stems high above the surrounding trees. But the point in the scenery which struck the travelers as being most peculiar was the precipitous character of the sides of many of the vast mountains and the flatness of their summits. Tom Collins, who was a good judge of heights having traveled in several mountainous regions of the world, estimated the nearest precipices to be upwards of three thousand feet without a break from top to bottom, but the ranges in the background towered far above these and must have been at least double. I never saw anything like this before, Tom, said Ned, in a suppressed voice. I did not believe such sublime scenery existed, replied his companion. I have traveled in Switzerland and Norway, but this surpasses both. Truly it was worthwhile to give up our gold digging in order to see this. Yet there are many rejoined Ned who travel just far enough into California to reach the diggings where they remain till their fortunes are made, or till their hopes are disappointed, and then they return to England and write a book per chance in which they speak as authoritatively as if they had swept the whole region, north and south, east and west. Little wonder that we find such travelers contradicting each other flatly. One speaks of California as being the most splendid agricultural country in the world and advises everyone to emigrate at once, while another condemns it as an arid, unproductive region fit only for the support of Indians and grizzly bears, the fact being that both speak correctly enough it may be, of the very small portion of California they have respectively visited. By the more I travel in this wonderful land the more I feel how very little I know about it, and had I returned to England without having seen this valley, I should have missed one of the most remarkable sites, not only in the country, but I verily believe in the world. If you ever return home, Tom, and are persuaded at the earnest request of numerous friends to write a book, don't dogmatize as to facts. Remember how limited your experience has been, and don't forget that facts in one valley are not facts at all in another valley eight or ten miles off. Acts suggested Tom Collins, patting the arch-neck of his steed, perhaps the advice with which you have just favored me might with greater propriety have proceeded from me to you, for considering the copious variety of your sentiments on this and other subjects and the fluency with which you utter them, it is likely that you will rush in to print long before I timidly venture, with characteristic modesty, even to grasp the pen. As Tom ceased speaking they came upon a forest of pine or fir trees, in the midst of which towered a tree of such gigantic height that its appearance caused them simultaneously to draw up and gaze at it in silent wonder. Can it be possible, Sidneyed, that our eyes don't deceive us? Surely some peculiarity in the atmosphere gives that tree false proportions. Without answering, Tom galloped towards the tree in question closely followed by his friend. Instead of any delusive haze being cleared away, however, the tree grew larger as they approached, and when they hauled it about twenty yards from it, they felt that they were indeed in the presence of the monarch of the forest. The tree, which they measured after viewing it in wondering admiration from all points of view, was ninety-three feet in circumference, and it could not have been less than three hundred and sixty feet high. They little knew that many years afterwards the bark of this giant tree, to the height of one hundred and sixteen feet, was to be removed to England, built up in its original form, and exhibited in the great crystal palace of Sidonham. Yet so it was, and part of the mother of the forest may be seen there at this day. Towards evening the travelers drew near to the head of the valley. We must be approaching a waterfall of no ordinary size, remarked Tom, as they rode through the dark shades of the forest which were pretty extensive there. I have heard its roar for some time, answered Ned, but until we clear this belt of trees we shan't see it. Just then the roar of the fall burst upon them with such deafening violence that they involuntarily started. It seemed as if a mighty torrent had burst its bounds and was about to sweep them away along with the forest through which they rode. Pressing forward in eager haste they soon found that they're having doubled round a huge mountain barrier which the trees had hitherto concealed from them was the cause of the sudden increase in the roar of the fall, but they were still unable to see it, owing to the dense foliage that overshadowed them. As they galloped on the thunder of falling waters became more deep and intense until they reached an elevated spot comparatively free from trees which overlooked the valley and revealed a site such as is not equaled even by Niagara itself. A succession of wall-like mountains rose in two tiers before them, literally into the clouds, for several of the lower clouds floated far below the highest peaks, and from the summit of the highest range a river equal to the Thames at Richmond dropped sheer down a fall of above two thousand feet. Here it met the summit of the lower mountain range on which it burst with a deep-toned, sullen, never-ceasing roar, comparable only to eternal thunder. A white cloud of spray received the falling river in its soft embrace and sent it forth again, turbulent and foam bespeckled, towards its second leap, another thousand feet, into the plain below. The entire height of the fall was above three thousand feet. Its sublimity no language can convey. Its irresistible effect in the minds of the wanderers was to turn their thoughts to the almighty creator of so awe-inspiring and wonderful a scene. Here they discovered another tree, which was so large that their thoughts were diverted even from the extraordinary cataract for a short time. Unlike the previous one, this monarch of the woods lay prostrate on the ground, but its diameter near the root was so great that they could not see over it though seated on horseback. It measured a hundred and twenty feet in circumference, and when standing must have been little if at all short of five hundred feet in height. And as they were by such noble and stupendous works of God the travelers could not find words to express their feelings. Deep emotion has no articulate language. The heaving breast in the glowing eye alone indicate the fervor of the thoughts within. For a long time they sat gazing round them in silent wonder and admiration. Then they dismounted to measure the great tree, and after that Ned sat down to sketch the fall, while his companion rode forward to select a spot for camping on. Tom had not proceeded far when he came upon the track of wheels in the grass, a site which surprised him much, for into that remote region he had supposed few travelers ventured even on horseback. The depth and breadth of the tracks too surprised him not a little. They were much deeper and broader than those caused by any species of cart he had yet seen or heard of in the country, and the width apart was so great that he began to suspect he must have mistaken a curious freak of nature for the tracks of a gigantic vehicle. Following the track for some distance he came to a muddy spot where the footprints of men and horses became distinctly visible. A little further on he passed the mouth of what appeared to be a cavern, and being of an inquisitive disposition he dismounted and tied his horse to a tree, intending to examine the entrance. To enter a dark cave in a wild unknown region with a din of a thundering cataract filling the ears just after having discovered tracks of a mysterious nature in the neighborhood was so trying to Tom's nervous system that he half resolved to give it up. But the exploration of a cavern has a fascination to some dispositions which everyone cannot understand. Tom said, pshaw, to himself in an undertone, and boldly stepping into the dark portals of the cavern he disappeared. Meanwhile Edward Stanton finished his sketch and supposing that Tom was waiting for him in advance he mounted and galloped forward as fast as the nature of the ground would allow. Soon he came to the tracks before mentioned and shortly after to the muddy spot with the footprints. Here he drew rain and dismounted to examine the marks more closely. Our hero was as much perplexed as his friend had been at the unusually broad tracks of the vehicle which had passed that way. Seeing his horse by the bridle he advanced slowly until he came to the spot where Tom's horse stood fastened to a tree, a sight which alarmed him greatly for the place was not such as any one would have selected for an encampment, yet had any foul play befallen his friend, he knew well that the horse would not have been left quietly there. Sorely puzzled and filled with anxious fears he examined the spot carefully and at last came upon the entrance to the cavern before which he paused, uncertain what to do. The shadows of evening were fast falling on the scene and he experienced the feeling of dread as he gazed into the profound gloom. He was convinced that Tom must be there, but the silence and the length of time he had been absent led him to fear that some accident had befallen his friend. Oh! Tom! He shouted, unentering, are you there? There was a rolling echo within, but no voice replied to the question. Again Ned shouted at the full pitch of his lungs and this time he thought he heard a faint reply. Hurrying forward eagerly as quickly as he dared he repeated his shout, but the declivity of the entrance became so great that he lost his footing and well-knife fell headlong down a steep incline. He succeeded, however, in regaining his hold and clamber back to the entrance as quickly as possible. There he caught up a pine knot, struck a light and kindled it, and with this torch held high above his head advanced once more into the cavern. The voice of Tom Collins at this moment came loud and full from the interior. Take care, Ned, there's a sharp descent. I've tumbled down it, but I don't think I much hurt. Cheer up, my boy, cried Ned heartily. I'll get you out in a minute. The next moment he stood beside his friend who had risen from the rugged floor of the cave and sat on a piece of rock resting his head on his hand. I get badly hurt, my poor fellow, said Ned, anxiously going down on one knee and endeavouring to raise his friend's head. I fear you are. Here, try a drop of this brandy. That's it. Why, you look better already. Come now, let me examine you. The spirit revived Tom at once, and he replied cheerfully as he submitted to inspection. All right, I was only stunned a little by the fall. Catch me exploring again without a light. On examination Ned found to his great relief that his friend's hurts were slight. He had been stunned by the severity of his fall, but no bones were broken, and only a few scratches received, so that after another sip of brandy he felt almost as well as ever. But he firmly resisted his companions and treaty to leave the cavern. No, my boy, said he, after paying such a price as entrance fee, I'm not going to quit until I have explored the whole of this cave, so please go out for another pine-nut or two, and I'll wait for you. Seeing that he was determined, Ned obeyed, and soon returned with several fresh torches, two of which were ignited, and a bright light sent far and wide into the roof of the cave, which was at a great height above them. The walls were of curious and in some places grotesque forms. Immense stalactites hung from the roof, and these were of varying colors, pale green, pink, and white, while some of them looked like cascades which sprang from the walls, and had been petrified ere they quite reached the ground. The roof was supported by natural pillars, and various arched openings led into similar chambers, some of which were larger and more curious in the outer one. "'Do you know,' said Ned Sinton, as they sat down on a rock in one of the inner chambers to rest, this place recalls vividly to my remembrance, a strange dream which I had just before leaving England. "'Indeed,' said Tom, I hope you're not a believer in dreams. "'Don't, I beseech you, take it into your head that it's going to be realized at this particular moment whatever it was. It would take a very strong amount of belief indeed to induce me to expect the realization of that dream, shall I tell it to you.' "'Is it a very ghostly one?' inquired Tom. "'No, not at all.' Then out with it. Ned immediately began the narration of the remarkable dream with which this story opens, and as he went on to tell of how the stout old gentleman snuffed gold dust and ultimately shot up to the roof of the cave and became a golden stalactite, Tom Collins, whose risable tendencies were easily roused, roared with laughter until the vaulted caverns echoed again. At the end of one of these explosions the two friends were struck dumb by certain soulful and mysterious sounds which proceeded from the further end of the innmost chamber. In starting to his feet Tom Collins let fall his torch, and in the convulsive clutch which he made to catch it he struck the other torch out of Ned's hand so that instantly both were left in the profoundest darkness with their hearts beating like sledgehammers against their ribs. To flee was their first and natural impulse, but to flee in the dark, over rough ground, and with very imperfect ideas as to the position of the cave's outlet was dangerous. "'What is to be done?' ejaculated Tom Collins in a tone that indicated the perturbation of his heart too clearly. At that moment Ned remembered that he had a box of matches in the pocket of his hunting-coat, so without answering he drew it forth, struck a light, and reignited the torches. "'Now, Tom,' he said, "'don't let us give way to unmanly fears. I have no belief whatever in ghosts or spirits, good or evil, being permitted to come invisible or audible for him to frighten poor mortals. Every effect has a cause, and I'm determined to find out the cause of these strange sounds. They certainly proceed from animal lungs, whether from man or beast remains to be seen. "'Go ahead, then, I'll follow,' said Tom, whose courage had returned with the light. "'I'm game for anything that I can see, but I confess to you that I cannot stand howls and groans and darkness.' Notwithstanding their utmost efforts they failed to discover the cause of the mysterious sounds, which seemed at times to be voices muttering, while at other times they swelled out into a loud cry. All that could be certainly ascertained was that they proceeded from the roof of the innermost cavern and that the center of that roof was too high to be discerned by torchlight. "'What shall we do now?' inquired Tom. "'We shall go to the summit of the hill above this cave and see what is to be seen there. Always look at both sides of a mystery if you would fathom it. Come along.' In a few minutes they stood in open air and once more breathed freely. Harnessing their horses they ascended the steep slope of the hill above the cave, and after some trouble reached the summit. Here the first thing that met their gaze was a campfire, and near to it several men engaged in harnessing their horses to a large wagon or van. The frantic haste with which they performed the operation convinced Ned that he had discovered the cause of the mysterious voices, and that he and Tom had been the innocent cause of frightening the strangers nearly out of their wits. So engrossed were they with their work that our travelers advanced within a circle of light of their fire before they were discovered. The man who first saw them uttered a yell, and the whole party turned round seized their rifles and, with terror depicted on their countenances, faced the intruders. "'Who comes here?' shouted one. "'Friends,' answered Ned, laying down his rifle, and advancing. Instantly the men threw down their arms and resumed the work of harnessing their horses. "'If you be friends,' cried the one who spoke first, "'give us a hand. "'I'll kiss all the fiends in the bottomless pitter located just below our feet.' "'Listen to me for one moment, gentlemen,' cried Ned, sentin. "'I think I can relieve your mind. What have you heard or seen?' At these words the men stopped and looked inquiringly at their questioner. "'Seen?' "'Stranger, we've seen nothing, but we've heard a sight we have, I calculate. We heard the imps of darkness, talkin' as plain as I hear you. At first I thought it was somebody at the foot of the hill, but all of a sudden the imps took to larfin' as if they'd split just under my feet. So I yelled out to my mate here to come and yoke the beast and get away as slick as we could. We was just about ready to slope when you appeared.' Ned now explained to them the cause of their alarms, and on search being made a hole was found as he had anticipated close at hand among the bushes which communicated with the cavern below and formed a channel for the conveyance of the so-called mysterious sounds. "'And now,' said Ned, "'may I ask permission to pass the night with you?' "'You're welcome, Stranger,' replied he who seemed to be the chief of the band, a tall bearded American named Croft who seemed more like a bandit than an honest man. His comrades, too, six in number, appeared a wild and reckless set of fellows with whom one would naturally desire to hold as little intercourse as possible. But most men at the Californian diggings had more or less the aspect of brigands, so Ned Centon and his companion felt little concern as to their characters, although they did feel a little curious as to what had brought them to such a wild region. "'If it is not taking too great a liberty,' said Ned, after answering the thousand questions put to him in rapid succession by his Yankee host, "'may I ask what has brought you to this out of the Way Valley?' "'Bear catching,' answered the man shortly as he addressed himself to a large venison stake which a comrade had just cooked for him. "'Bear catching?' ejaculated Ned. "'Aye, and scremin' hard work it is, too, I guess. But it pays well.' "'What do you do with them when caught?' inquired Tom Collins in a somewhat skeptical tone. "'Take them down to the cities and sell them to fight with wild bulls.' "'At this answer our travelers stared at the man incredulously. "'You're stranger, sir, I see,' he resumed, "'else you'd know that we have bull and bear fights. The grizzlies are chained by one leg and the bulls let loose at them. The bulls charge like all possessed, but they find it hard to do much damage to Caleb, whose height is like a double extra rhinoceros. The grizzlies generally get the best of it, and if they was let loose they'd chaw up the bulls in no time they would. "'There's a great demand for them just now, and my trade is catching them alive here in the mountains.' The big Yankee stretched out his long limbs and smoked his pipe with the complacent aspect of a man who felt proud of his profession. "'Do you mean that you seven men catch full-grown grizzly bears alive and take them down to the settlements?' inquired Nedden amazement. "'Certainly I do,' replied the bear-catcher. "'And why not, stranger?' "'Because I should have thought it impossible.' "'Nothing's impossible,' replied the man quietly. "'But how do you manage it?' Instead of replying the Yankee inquired if the strangers would stay over next forenoon with them. "'With much pleasure,' answered Ned, not a little amused at the invitation, as well as the man's brusque manner. "'Well, then,' continued the bear-catcher, shaking the ashes out of his pipe and putting it into his hat. "'Ah, let's just see how we do it in the morning.' "'Good night!' So saying, he drew his blanket over his head and resigned himself to sleep, an example which was speedily followed by the whole party. CHAPTER XXI. Grizzly Bear Catching in the Mountains Ned and Tom dying in the midst of romantic scenery and hold sagacious converse, the strange devices of woodpeckers. Just as day began to peep on the following morning, the camp was roused by one of the bear-catchers, a Mexican, who had been a way to visit the bear-trap during the night and now came rushing in among the sleeper, shouting, "'Woo-hoo! Boy, heen-catch! Heen-catch! Beegah's 20 months! Fact!' At first Ned thought the camp was attacked by savages, and he and Tom sprang to their feet and grasped their rifles, while they sought to rub their eyes open hastily. A glance at the other members of the camp, however, showed that they were unnecessarily alarmed. Croft leisurely stretched his limbs and then gathered himself slowly into a sitting posture, while the others arose with various degrees of reluctance. "'Ban long in,' inquired Croft. "'No, just catched,' answered the Mexican, who sat down at his pipe and smoked violently to relieve his impatient feelings. "'Bigan,' inquired Croft, again. To this the Mexican answered by rolling his eyes and exclaiming, "'With a degree of vigor that left his hearers to imagine anything they pleased, and then settle it in their minds that the thing so imagined was out of all sight short of the mark. The excitement of the man at last fully roused the sleepy crew, and Croft sprang up with the agility of a cat. "'Oh, boys,' he cried, proceeding to buckle his garments around him. "'Up with ya! Catch the horses and put two! "'Look alive, will ya! Grease your joints! Do!' "'Now, strangers, I'll show you how we catch a bar in this location. Bring your rules, for sometimes he breaks his trap, and isn't there a spree just?' We need scarcely remark that the latter part of this speech was made to senten and his comrade, who were drawing the charges of their revolvers and reloading. "'Is the trap far off?' inquired Ned. "'Carter of an hour or so. "'Look sharp, lads!' This exhortation was unnecessary, for the men had already caught three stout horses, all of which were attached to an enormous wagon or van whose broad wheels accounted for the tracks discovered in the valley on the previous evening. "'That's his cage,' said the bear-catcher, replying to Ned's look of inquiry. "'It's all lined with sheet-iron, and would hold an on-time streak of lightning it would. "'Now, then, drive ahead!' The lumbering machine jolted slowly down the hill as he spoke, and while several of the party remained with the horses, Croft and our travelers, with the remainder, pushed on ahead. In less than twenty minutes they came through a ravine filled with thick underwood, from the recesses of which came for sounds of fierce ursine wrath that would have deterred most men from entering. But Croft knew his game was secure and led the way confidently through the bushes until he reached a spot on which stood what appeared to be a small log cabin without door or window. Inside of this cabin an enormous grisly bear raged about furiously, thrusting his snout and claws through the interstices of the logs, and causing splinters to fly all round him while he growled in tones of the deepest indignation. "'Ah, ain't he a bit of thunder,' cried Croft as he walked around the trap, gazing in with glittering eyes at every opening between the logs. "'How in the world did you get him in there?' asked Ned Sitton, as soon as his astonishment had abated sufficiently to loosen his tongue. "'Easy enough,' replied Croft. "'If you observe the top of the trap, you'll see the rope that suspended it from the limb of that oak. Inside there was a bit of beef, so fixed up that when Mr. Caleb laid hold of it, he pulled a sword to trigger and down came the trap, shutting him in slick as you see. At this moment the powerful animal struggled so violently that he tilted his prison on one side and well-nigh overturned it. "'Look out, lads!' shouted Croft, darting towards the tree and cocking his rifle, actions in which he was imitated by all the rest of the party with surprising agility. "'Don't fire till it turns over,' he cried sternly, on observing that two of the more timid members of his band were about to fire at the animal's legs, which appeared below the edge of the trap. Fortunately the bear ceased its efforts just at that critical moment, and the trap fell heavily back to its original position. "'By good luck,' shouted Croft, and here comes the cage. Range up on the left, boys, and out with the horses. They won't stand this.' The terrified animals were removed from the scene, trembling violently from head to foot, and the whole band, applying their shoulders to the wheels, slowly pushed the vehicle alongside of the trap until the sides of the two met. There was a strong door in the side of the trap, which was now removed by being pulled inwards, revealing to Bruin an aperture which corresponded to another door opening into the iron-lined cage. There were stout iron bars ready to be shot home the instant he condescended to pass through this entrance. But Caleb, as Croft called him, showed himself sadly destitute of an inquiring disposition. He knew that there was now a hole in his prison wall for he looked at it. He knew that a hole either conducted into a place or out of it, for lifelong experience had taught him that. Yet he refused to avail himself of the opportunity, and continued to rage round the trap, glaring between the logs at his foes outside. It is unreasonable to suppose that he was afraid to go into the hole because it was a dark one, for he was well accustomed to such dark dens. Besides, no one who looked at him could for a moment suppose that he was, or could be, afraid of anything at all. We must, therefore, put his conduct down to sheer obstinacy. The men poked him with sticks, shouted at him, roared in his face, threw water over him, and even tried the effect of a shot of powder at his flanks. But all to no purpose, although their efforts were continued vigorously for full two hours, the bear would not enter that hole on any account whatever. Try another shot of powder at him, cried Croft, whose patience was now almost exhausted. The shot was fired at its flank, and was received with a ferocious growl, while the strong woodwork of the trap trembled under his efforts to escape. Ain't it vexin, said Croft, sitting down on the stump of a tree and wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Ned Sinton and Tom, who had done their utmost to assist their new acquaintance, sat down beside him and admitted that it was vexing, as if by one impulse the whole party then sat down to rest. And at that moment, having as it were valiantly asserted his right of independent action, the bear turned slowly round and quietly scrambled through the hole. The men sprang up, the massive iron bars were shot into their sockets with a clang, and Bruin was a prisoner for life. As neither Edward Sinton nor Tom Collins had any particular desire to become bear-catchers, they bade their new friends a do that afternoon and continued their journey. The road, as they advanced, became more and more steep and rugged, so that they could only proceed at a walk, and in many places experience considerable difficulty, and ran no little risk in passing along the faces of cliffs, where the precipices ascended hundreds of feet upwards like walls on the one hand, and descended sheer down into an unfathomable abyss on the other. But the exceeding grandeur of the scenery ambly repaid their toils, and the deep roar of that mighty cataract ever sounded in their ears. At length they reached the head of the valley and stood under the spray of the fall, which, expanding far above and around the seething cauldron whence it sprang, drenched the surrounding country with perpetual showers. Here a gap or pass in the mountains was discovered, ascending on the left, and affording apparently an exit from the valley. Up this the travelers toiled until they cleared the spray of the falls, and then sat down beside a clump of trees to dry their garments in the sunshine and to cook their midday meal. What a glorious thing it is, Tom, to wander thus unrestrained amid such scenes, said Ned Sinton, as he busied himself roasting a piece of venison which his rifle had procured but half an hour before. How infinitely more delightful than traveling in the civilized world where one is cheated at every turn and watched and guarded as if robbery or murder or high treason were the only probable objects a traveler could have in view. Comparisons, my dear fellow, you know the proverb, replied Tom Collins. Don't uphold California at the expense of the continent. Besides, there are many in this world who would rather a thousand times wander by the classic lake of Como with its theatrical villas and its enchanting sunshine and perfume or paddle up the castellated Rhine than scramble here among wild rocks and woods and cataracts with the chance of meeting an occasional savage or a grisly bear. Go on, my boy, said Ned with a touch of sarcasm in his tone. You haven't read me half a lesson yet. Besides the many you refer to, are there not hundreds, I thousands, whose chief enjoyment in traveling is derived from the historical associations called up by the site of the ruins, castles, and temples of classic ground, whose delight it is to think that here Napoleon crossed the Alps, as Hannibal did before him, and many a nobody has done after him, that there within these moldering ruins the oracles of old gave forth their voice, forgetting perhaps too easily, while they indulge in these reminiscences of the past, that the warrior's end was wholesale murder and that the oracles spoke only to deceive poor ignorant human nature. Ha! I would not give one hearty dash into pure uncontaminated nature for all the famous tours put together. Ned looked round him as he spoke with a glow of enthusiasm that neither bad news nor philosophy could check. Just look around thee, he continued. Open thine ears, Tom, to the music of Yon Cataract, and expand thy nostrils to the wild perfume of these pines. I wouldn't at this moment quietly remark, Tom, exchange for it the perfume of that venison stake, of which I pray thee to be more regardful, else doubt upset it into the fire. Oh, Tom, incorrigible. Not at all, Ned, while you flatter yourself that you have all the enthusiastic study of nature to yourself, here have I succeeded within the last few minutes in solving a problem in natural history which has puzzled my brains for weeks past. And pray thee, what may that be most sapient philosopher? Do ye see Yonder Berg clinging to the stem of that tree and pitching into it as if it were its most deadly foe? I do. A woodpecker it is. Well, continued Tom, sitting down before his portion of the venison stake, that bird has cleared up two points in natural history which have up till this time been a mystery to me. The one was why woodpeckers should spend their time impecking the trees so incessantly. The other was how it happened that several trees I have cut down could have had so many little holes bored in their trunks and an acorn neatly inserted into each. Now that little bird has settled the question for me. I caught him in the act not ten minutes ago. He flew to that tree with an acorn in his beak, tried to insert it into a hole which didn't fit, being too small, so he tried another which did fit, poked the nut in, small end first, and tapped it scientifically home. Now, why did he do it? That's the question. Because he wanted to, probably, remark dead, and very likely he lays up a store of food for winter in this manner. Very possibly. I shall make a note of this for I'm determined to have it sifted to the bottom. Meanwhile, I'll trouble you for another junk of venison. It was many weeks afterwards ere Tom Collins succeeded in sifting this interesting point to the bottom, but perhaps the reader may not object to have the result of his inquiries noted at this point in our story. Many of the trees in California on being stripped of their bark are found to be perforated all over with holes about the size of a musket ball. These are pierced by the woodpecker with such precision and regularity that one might believe they have been cut out by a ship carpenter. The summer is spent by this busy little bird in making these holes and in filling them with acorns. One acorn goes to one hole and the bird will not try to force the nut into a hole that is too small for it, but flutters round the tree until it finds one which fits it exactly. Thus, one by one the holes are filled and a store of food is laid up for winter use in a larder which secures it from the elements and places it within reach of the depositor when the winter snows have buried all the acorns that lie upon the ground and put them beyond the reach of woodpeckers. The birds never encroach on their store until the snow has covered the ground, then they begin to draw upon their bank. And it is a curious fact that the bills of these birds are always honored, for their instinct enables them to detect the bad nuts with unerring certainty so that their bank is always filled with good ones. This matter of selecting the good nuts is a mere chance with men, for often those shells which seen the soundest are found to contain a grub instead of a nut. Even the sagacious Indian is an uncertain judge in this respect, but the woodpecker provided by an all-wise creator with an unerring instinct never makes a mistake in selecting its store of food for winter. CHAPTER XXI Curious trees and still more curious plains. An interesting discovery followed by a sad one. Fate of travelers in the mountains. A sudden illness. Ned proves himself to be a friend in need and indeed, as well as an excellent doctor, hunter, cook, and nurse. They're shooting by firelight. During the course of their wanderings among the mountains, our hero and his companion met with many strange adventures and saw many strange sights which, however, we cannot afford space to dwell upon here. Their knowledge in natural history, too, was wonderfully increased, for they were both observant men, and the school of nature is the best in which anyone can study. Audubon, the hunter-naturalist of America, knew this well, and few men have added so much as he to the sum of human knowledge in his peculiar department, while fewer still have so wonderfully enriched the pages of romantic adventure in wild, unknown regions. In these wanderings, too, Ned and Tom learned to know experimentally that truth is indeed stranger than fiction, and that if the writers of fairy tales had traveled more, they would have saved their imaginations a deal of trouble and produced more extraordinary works. The size of the trees they encountered was almost beyond belief, though none of them surpassed the giant of which an account has been already given. Among other curious trees they found sugar pines growing in abundance in one part of the country. This is perhaps the most graceful of all the pines. With a perfectly straight and cylindrical stem and smooth bark, it rears its proud crest high above other trees and flings its giant limbs abroad like a sentinel guarding the forest. The stem rises to about four-fifths of its height perfectly free of branches. Above this point the branches spread out almost horizontally, drooping a little bit at the ends from the weight of the huge cones which they bear. These cones are about a foot and a half long, and under each leaf lies a seed the size of a pea, which has an agreeably sweet taste and is much esteemed by the Indians who use it as an article of food. Another remarkable sight they saw was a plain of some miles an extent completely covered with shattered pieces of quartz which shone with specks and veins of pure gold. Of course they had neither time nor inclination to attempt the laborious task of pulverizing this quartz in order to obtain the precious metal, but Ned moralized a little as they galloped over the plain, spurning the gold beneath their horse's hooves as if it had been of no value whatever. They both puzzled themselves also to account for so strange an appearance, but the only solution that seemed to them at all admissible was that a quartz vein had, at some early period of the world's history, been shattered by a volcanic eruption and the plain thus strewn with gold. But from the contemplation of these and many other interesting sights and phenomena we must pass to an event which seriously affected the future plans of the travelers. One beautiful evening, such an evening as from its deep quiet and unusual softness, leaves a lasting impression on the memory, the two horsemen found themselves slowly toiling up the steep aclivity of a mountain ridge. Their advance was toilsome for the way was rugged and no track of any kind assisted them in their assent. I fear the poor horses will give in, said Ned, dismounting and looking back at his companion who slowly followed him. We are near the summit, answered Tom, and they shall have a long rest there. As he spoke they both dismounted and advanced on foot leading their fatigued horses by the bridles. Do you know, said Tom with a sigh, I feel more used up today than I have been since we started on this journey. I think we have better encamp and have a cup of tea. There is a little left yet if I mistake not. With all my heart, Tom, I too feel inclined to rest in. Ned paused. For at that moment they overtopped the highest edge of the ridge and the view that burst upon them was well fitted to put the flight every previous train of thought. The ridge on which they stood rose several hundred feet above the level of the plain beyond and commanded a view of unknown extent towards the far west. The richest possible sweep of country was spread out at their feet like a huge map bathed in a glow of yellow sunshine. Lakes and streams, crags and rocks, swore and swamp and plain, undulating and abrupt, barren and verdant, all were there and could be embraced in a single wide sweeping glance. It seemed to the entranced travelers like the very garden of Eden. Waterfall flew about in all directions the whistling of their wings and their wild cries being mellowed by distance into pleasant music, and far away on the right were a clear lake mirrored each tree on its banks as if the image were reality. A herd of deer were seeing cooling their sides and limbs in the water, while on the extreme horizon a line of light indicated the shores of the vast Pacific Ocean. Air the travelers could find words to express their feelings, a rock with a piece of stick and a small rag attached to it attracted their attention. We are not the first to have set their feet here, it seems, said Ned, pointing to the signal. Strange, muttered Tom Collins as they turned towards the rock. That does not look like an Indian mark. Yet I would have thought that white men had never stood here before, for the spot as far removed from any known diggings and as we know farewell is not easily reached. On gaining the rock they found that the rag was a shred of linen without mark of any kind to tell who had placed it there. It must have been the freak of some Indian hunter, said Ned, examining the rock on which the little flagstaff was raised. Say, no. Here are some marks cut in a stone. Look here, Tom, can you decipher this? It looks like the letter G. D. B. D. B., cried Tom Collins with a degree of energy that surprised his friend. Let me see. Tom carefully removed the moths and cleared out the letters which were unmistakable. Who can D. B. have been, said Ned. Tom looked up with a flushed countenance and a glittering eye as he exclaimed. Who? Who but Daniel Boone, Cooper's great hero. Hawkeye of the last of the Mohicans. Deerslayer. Leather stocking. He has been here before us. Aye, brave spirit. Long before other hunters had dared to venture far into the territory of the scalping, torturing, yelling Redskin, this bold heart had pushed westward fearless in the loan until his eagle eye rested on the Great Pacific. It must have been he. I have followed him, Ned and Spirit, throughout all his wild career, for I know him to be a real man and no fiction. But little did I think that I should see a spot where his manly foot had rested or lived to discover his farthest step in the far west. Ned sent and listened with interest to the words of his friend, but he did not interrupt him, for he respected the deep emotions that swelled his heart and beamed from his flashing eye. We spoke, Ned, some time ago, of historical associations continued, Tom. Here are historical associations worth coming all this way to call up. Here are associations that touch my heart more than all the deeds of ancient chivalry. Ah, Daniel Boone! Little did thou think, when thy hawk's eye rested here, that in a few short years the land would be overrun by gold-diggers from all ends of the earth. But this flag, said Ned, he could never have placed that here. It would have been swept away by storms years ago. You're right, said Tom, turning over the stones that supported the staff. Hello! What have we here? He pulled out a roll of oiled cloth as he spoke, and on opening it discovered a scrap of paper on which were written in pencil, the words, Help us, for God's sake help us, we are perishing at the foot of the hill to the southward of this. No name or date was attached to this strange paper, but the purport of it was sufficiently clear so without wasting time in fruitless conjecture, the young men immediately sprang on their horses and rode down the hill in the direction indicated. The route proved more rugged and steep than that by which they had ascended, and for a considerable distance they wound their way between the trunks of a closely planted cypress grove, after passing which they emerged upon a rocky plain of small extent at the further extremity of which a green oasis indicated the presence of a spring. Towards this they rode in silence. Ah! exclaimed Ned in a tone of deep pity as he rained up at the foot of an oak tree. Too late! They were indeed too late to sucker the poor creatures who had placed the scrap of paper on the summit of that mountain ridge in the faint hope that friendly hands might discover it in time. Six dead forms lay at the foot of the oak, side by side with their pale faces turned upwards and the expression of extreme suffering still lingering on their shrunken features. It needed no living witness to tell their sad history. The skeletons of oxen, the broken cart, the scattered mining tools and the empty provision casks showed clearly enough that they were immigrants who had left their homesteads in the States and tried to reach the gold regions of California by the terrible overland journey. They had lost their way among the dreary fastnesses of the mountains, traveled far from the right road to the mines, and perished at last of exhaustion and hunger on the very borders of the golden land. The gray-haired father of the family lay beside a young girl with his arm clasped round her neck. Two younger men also lay near them, one lying as if in dying he had sought to afford support to the other. The bodies were still fresh and a glance showed that nearly all of them were of one family. Alas, Ned, had we arrived a few days sooner we might have saved them, said Tom. I think they must have been freed from their pains and sorrows here more than a week since, replied the other, fastening his horse to a tree and proceeding to search the clothes of the unfortunate for letters or anything that might afford a clue to their identity. We must stay here an hour or two, Tom, and bury them. No scrap of writing however was found, not even a book with a name on it to tell who the strangers were. With hundreds of others no doubt they had left their homes full of life and hope to seek their fortunes in the land of gold, but the director of man's steps had ordered it otherwise and their golden dreams had ended with their lives in the unknown wilderness. The two friends covered the bodies with sand and stones and leaving them in their shallow grave pursued their way, but they had not gone far when a few large drops of rain fell and the sky became overcast with dark leaden clouds. Ned, said Tom anxiously, I fear we shall be caught by the rainy season. It's awkward being so far from the settlements at such a time. Oh, nonsense, surely you don't mind a wedding, cried Ned. We can push on in spite of rain. Can we? retorted Tom with unwanted gravity. It's clear that you've never seen the rainy season, else you would not speak of it so lightly. By man, you seem to have lost pluck all of a sudden. Come, cheer up. Rain or no rain, I mean to have a good supper and a good night's rest. And here is just a spot that will suit us. Ned sent and leaped off his horse as he spoke and, fastening him to a tree, loosened the saddle-gurse and set about preparing the encampment. Tom Collins assisted him, but neither the rallying of his comrade nor his own efforts could enable the latter to shake off the depression of spirits with which he was overpowered. That night the rain came down in torrents and drenched the travelers to the skin despite their most ingenious contrivances to keep it out. They spent the night in misery, and when morning broke, Ned found that his companion was smitten down with egg. Even Ned's buoyant spirits were swamped for a time at this unlooked-for catastrophe, for the dangers of their position were not slight. It was clear that Tom would not be able to travel for many days, for his whole frame trembled when the fits came on, with a violence that seemed to threaten dislocation to all his joints. Ned felt that both their lives, under God, depended on his keeping well and being able to procure food for and nurse his friend. At the same time he knew that the rainy season, if indeed it had not already begun, would soon set in, and perhaps render the country impassable. There was no use, however, in giving way to morbid fears, so Ned faced his difficulties manfully and remembering the promise which he had given his old uncle at parting from him in England, he began by offering up a short but earnest prayer at the sight of his friend's couch. Ned, said Tom sadly as his companion ceased, I fear that you'll have to return alone. Come, come, don't speak that way, Tom, it isn't right. God is able to help us here as well as in cities. I don't think you are so ill as you fancy. The sight of these poor immigrants has depressed you. Cheer up, my boy, and I'll let you see that you were right when you said I could turn my hand to anything. I'll be hunter, woodcutter, cook and nurse all at once, and see if I don't make you all right in a day or two. You merely want rest, so keep quiet for a little, till I make a sort of sheltered place to put you in. The sun broke through the clouds as he spoke and shed a warm beam down on poor Tom, who was more revived by the sight of the cheering orb of day than by the words of his companion. In half an hour Tom was wrapped in the driest portion of the driest blanket, his wet habiliments were hung up before a roaring fire to dry, and a rude bower of willows covered with turf was erected over his head to guard him from another attack of rain should it come. But it didn't come. The sun shone cheerily all day, and Ned's preparations were completed before the next deluge came, so that when it descended on the following morning comparatively little found its way to Tom's resting place. It was scarcely a resting place, however. Tom turned and groaned on his uneasy couch and proved to be an uncommonly restive patient. He complained particularly when Ned left him for a few hours each day to procure fresh provisions. But he smiled and confessed himself unreasonable when Ned returned, as he always did, with a dozen wild ducks or several geese or hairs attached to his belt or a fat deer on his shoulders. Game of all kinds was plentiful, the weather improved, the young hunter's rifle was good and his aim was true, so that but for the sickness of his friend he would have considered the life he led a remarkably pleasant one. As day after day passed by, however, and Tom Collins grew no better but rather worse, he began to be seriously alarmed about him. Tom himself took the gloomiest view of his case, and at last said plainly he believed he was dying. At first Ned sought to effect a cure by the simple force of kind treatment and care, but finding that this would not do he bethought him of trying some experiments in a medicinal way. He chanced to have a box of pills with him and tried one, although with much hesitation and fear, for he had got them from a miner who could not tell what they were composed of, but who assured him that they were a sovereign remedy for the blues. Ned, it must be confessed, was rather a reckless doctor. He was anxious at the time he procured the pills to relieve a poor miner who seemed to be knocked up with hard work, but who insisted that he had a complication availments. So Ned bought the pills for twenty times their value and gave a few to the man advising him at the same time to rest and feed well, which he did, and the result was a complete cure. Our hero did not feel so certain, however, that they would succeed as well in the present case, but he resolved to try their virtues, for Tom was so prostrate that he could scarcely be induced to whisper a word. When the cold fit seized him he trembled so violently that his teeth rattled in his head, and when that passed off it was followed by a burning fever which is even worse to bear. At first he was restive and inclined to be peevish under his illness, the result no doubt of a naturally robust constitution struggling unsuccessfully against the attacks of disease, but when he was completely overcome his harassability passed away and he became patient, sweet-tempered and gentle as a child. Come, Tom, my boy, said Ned one evening, advancing to the side of his companion's couch and sitting down beside him while he held up the pill. Open your mouth and shut your eyes as we used to say at school. What is it? asked the sick man faintly. Never you mind. Patients have no business to know what their doctors prescribed. It's intended to cure egg and that's enough for you to know. If it doesn't cure you it's not my fault anyhow. Open your mouth, sir. Tom smiled sadly and obeyed. The pill was dropped in, a spoonful of water added to float it down and it disappeared. But the pill had no effect whatever. Another was tried with like result or rather with like absence of all result and at last the box was finished without the sick man being a width the better or the worse for them. This was disheartening, but Ned having begun to dabble in medicines felt an irresistible tendency to go on. Like the tiger who is once taste of blood he could not now restrain himself. I think you're a little better tonight, Tom, he said on the third evening after the administration of the first pill. I'm making you a decoction of bark here that will certainly do you good. Tom shook his head but said nothing. He evidently felt that the negative sign was an appropriate reply to the notion of his being better or of any decoction whatever doing him good. However, Ned stirred the panful of bark and water vigorously chatting all the while in a cheering tone in order to keep up his friend's spirits while the blaze of the campfire lit up his handsome face and bathed his broad chest and shoulders with a ruddy glow that rendered still more pallid the luster of the pale stars overhead. It's lucky the rain has kept off so long, he said, without looking up from the mysterious decoction over which he bent with the earnest gaze of an alchemist. I do believe that has something to do with your being better, my boy. Either that or the pills, or both. Ned totally ignored the fact that his friend did not admit that he was better. And this stuff he continued will set you up in a day or two. It's as good as quinine any day, and you've no notion what wonderful cure is that medicine affects. It took me a long time, too, to find the right tree. I wandered over two or three leagues of country before I came upon one. Luckily it was a fine, sunny day, and I enjoyed it much. I wish you had been with me, Tom, but you'll be all right soon. I lay down, too, once or twice in the sunshine, and put my head in the long grass and tried to fancy myself in a miniature forest. Did you ever try that, Tom? Ned looked round as he spoke, but the sick man gave a languid smile and shut his eyes, so he resumed his stirring of the pot in his rambling talk. You've no idea if you never tried it how one can deceive oneself in that way. I often did it at home when I was a little boy. I used to go away with a companion into a grass field and selecting a spot where the grass was long entangled and mixed with various kinds of weeds. We used to lie flat down with our faces as near to the ground as possible and gaze through the grass gems until we fancy the blades were trees and the pebbles were large rocks and the clods were mountains. Sometimes a huge beetle would crawl past and we instantly thought of St. George and the Dragon, and as the unwieldy monster came stumbling on through the forest we actually became quite excited and could scarcely believe that what we tried to imagine was not real. We seldom spoke on these occasions, my companion and I continued, Ned, suspending the stirring of the decoction and filling his pipe as he sat down close to the blazing logs. Speaking we found always broke the spell, so we agreed to keep perfect silence for as long a time as possible. You must try it, Tom, some day, for although it may seem to you a childish thing to do, there are many childish things which, when done in a philosophical spirit, are deeply interesting and profitable to men. Ned ceased talking for a few minutes while he ignited his pipe. When he spoke again his thoughts had wandered into a new channel. I'm sorry we have no fresh meat today, he said, looking earnestly at his friend. The remainder of that hair is not very savoury, but we must be content. I walked all the country round today without getting within range of any living thing. There were plenty both of deer and birds, but they were so wild I could not get near them. It would matter little if you were well, Tom, but you require good food just now, my poor fellow. Do you feel better tonight? Tom groaned and said that he felt easier in a very uneasy voice, after which they both relaxed into silence and no sound was heard save the crackling of the logs and the bubbling of a mysterious decoction in the pot. Suddenly Tom uttered a slight hiss, that peculiar sound so familiar to Backwood's ears by which hunters indicate to each other that something unusual has been observed and that they had better be on the alert. Ned's sentence nerves were of that firm kind which can never be startled or taken by surprise. He did not spring to his feet, but quickest thought he stretched forth his long arm and seizing his rifle cocked it while he glanced at his friend's eye to see in what direction he was looking. Tom pointed eagerly with his thin hand straight across the fire. Ned turned in that direction and at once saw the objects which had attracted his attention. Two bright gleaming balls shown in the dark background of the forest like two lustrous Irish diamonds in a black field of bog oak. He knew at once that they were the eyes of a deer, which with a curiosity well known as peculiar to many wild animals had approached the fire to stare at it. Ned instantly threw forward his rifle. The light of the fire enabled him easily to align the sights on the glittering eyes. The deadly contents belched forth and a heavy crash told that his aim had been true. Bravo! shouted Tom Collins, forgetting his ailments and the excitement of the moment, while Ned threw down his rifle, drew his hunting knife, sprang over the fire, and disappeared in the surrounding gloom. In a few minutes he returned with a fine deer on his shoulders. So home, my boy, he cried, flinging the carcass down. That was a lucky shot. We shall sup well tonight thanks to curiosity, which is a most useful quality and beast as well as man. But what's wrong? You look pale, and eh? You don't mean to say you're laughing? Tom was indeed pale for the sudden excitement in his exhausted condition had been too much for him. Yet there did seem a peculiar expression about the corners of his mouth that might have been the remains of a laugh. Ned, he said faintly, but the coxswain's all gone. Ned sprang up and ran to the fire, where sure enough he found the pan over which he had bent so long with necromantic gaze upset and most of the precious liquid gone. Ha! he cried, catching up the pot. Not all gone, lads, so your rejoicing was premature. There's quite enough left yet to physical well, and it's in a fit state to be taken, so open your mouth at once and be a good boy. A little of the medicine mixed in water was administered, and Tom, making a rye face, fell back in his couch with a sigh. Immediately after he was seized with perhaps the severest shaking fit he had yet experienced, so that Ned could not help recalling the well known caution so frequently met with on medicine vials, when taken to be well shaken, despite the anxiety he felt for his friend. But soon after the trembling fit passed away, and Tom sank into a quiet slumber, the first real rest he had enjoyed for several days. Ned felt his pulse and his brow, looked long and earnestly into his face, nodded approvingly once or twice, and having tucked the blankets gently in round the sick man, he proceeded to prepare supper. He removed just enough of the deer's skin to permit of a choice morsel being cut out. This he put into the pot and made thereof a rich and savoury soup which he tasted, and if smacking one's lips and tasting it again twice indicated anything, the soup was good. But Ned's sentence did not eat it. That was Tom's supper, and was put just near enough the fire to keep it warm. This being done, Ned cut out another choice morsel of deer's meat which he roasted and ate, as only those can eat who are well, and young, and robust, and in the heart of the wilderness. Then he filled his pipe, sat down close to Tom's couch, placed his back against a tree, crossed his arms on his breast, and smoked and watched the whole night long. He rose gently several times during the night, however, partly for the purpose of battling off his tendencies of sleep, and partly for the purpose of replenishing the fire and keeping the soup warm. But Tom Collins took no supper that night. Ned longed very much to see him awake, but he didn't. Towards morning Ned managed for some time to fight against sleep by entering into a close and philosophical speculation as to what was the precise hour at which that pot of soup could not properly be called supper but would merge into breakfast. This question still remained unsettled in his mind when Grey Dawn lit up the peaks of the eastern hills, and he was still debating it and nodding like a Chinese mandarin and staring at intervals like a confused owl when the sun shot over the treetops and a lighting softly on the sleeper's face aroused him. Tom awoke refreshed, ate his breakfast with relish, took his medicine without grumbling, smiled on his comrade, and squeezed his hand as he went to sleep again with a heavy sigh of comfort.