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Read Ebook: Nat The Trapper and Indian-Fighter by Irons Lettie Artley
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Ebook has 541 lines and 14041 words, and 11 pages
"Those eggs were cooked especially for you, mother," said the boy. "If you don't eat them I'll think you don't like my way, and I'll leave."
His mother laughed, but, once more, there came a mist of tears to her eyes. Slyly she tried to put one of the eggs on Fred's plate, but he would not let her.
"This toast is fine, if I did make it myself," said Fred, "and the bacon isn't half bad," he added as he took several slices, for there was plenty of that. "Guess I'll take some along for my dinner, as I'll not come back until night--if I get a job."
"That's so, Fred, I must see if there is anything in the house for your lunch. I--I don't believe I'll have any money until Mrs. Robinson pays me. I'll take her work home right after breakfast."
"A light lunch will do for me, mother. I can get some grub from one of the miners, if I run short."
This was true enough, for the gold-diggers would share their last crust with a hungry traveler.
The meal was soon over, and, with a small package of bread and bacon, and a piece of pie, saved from the day before, Fred Stanley started off to look for work.
SEEKING A JOB
From Piddock, where Fred lived, to New Strike was about eight miles, over the mountains. It was a hard journey, but the boy set off on it with a light heart, whistling merrily, for he was hopeful of getting a job, and he knew that if he did, there would be more happiness at home, since there was a dire shortage of money.
"I ought to get at least five dollars a week and my board," thought Fred. "If I do, I can save nearly four and send it home, and that will help out a lot. Poor dad, it's hard for him to be crippled the way he is. And I wish mother didn't have to work so hard. She is getting more gray than she ought to. I wish there was some work in Piddock. If I get a job over here I'll have to stay all the week, and can only go home Saturday night. But there's not much doing in Piddock."
This was true. The town had once been quite an important one, but the diggings near it had been exhausted, and the mining population had, in a large part, moved away. There were some mines in the vicinity, that were still worked, but they did not pay very well.
Shortly after Mr. Stanley's accident Fred had secured a place in the general store in Piddock, but, when the population diminished there was hardly enough work for the proprietor himself, and he had to discharge Fred, though he regretted it, for the boy was bright and quick, and a great help to him.
After that Fred tried in vain to get a steady position. He worked for a few days driving a team for a man, and occasionally did odd jobs for one of the merchants in town, or for some of the residents, but the pay was poor, and he seldom had three full days' work a week.
He had heard of the unexpected prosperity that had come to New Strike, and, knowing that there is usually plenty of work in a new mining camp, he determined to go there and see what he could find.
As Fred reached the mountain trail, leading to New Strike, he saw that it had been well traveled. On both sides of the narrow road were evidences that many teams had passed that way recently, for the refuse of camp stuff, broken boxes and barrels, and things that the miners had thrown away as useless, littered the ground.
As Fred made a turn in the road, he saw, just ahead of him, an old man, mounted on a small donkey. The man's legs were so long, and the donkey so little, that the rider's shoes nearly touched the ground.
Either the animal was lazy, or it was unable to carry the load on its back,--for the man had a big bundle on the saddle before him,--and the donkey went at a very slow pace. So slow, in fact, that Fred soon caught up to the rider.
"Good-morning," the boy said.
"Ah, stranger, good-morning," was the man's answer. "I see you are headed for the same place I am."
"I don't know whether it's the same place or not, but I'm going to New Strike," said Fred.
"So am I, if this donkey lasts the trip out. He's awful slow, stranger. What might your name be?"
"Fred Stanley."
"Where you from?"
"Piddock."
"Hum. Well I'm Bill Gardner. Old Bill Gardner, they mostly calls me."
"And where are you from?" asked Fred, thinking it only polite to manifest some interest in the rider.
"Me? Oh, I ain't from nowhere in particular. I make my home wherever I happen to drop my pick and shovel. I'm a prospector," and Fred noticed that, in addition to his bundle, the old man had a set of mining tools.
"Are you going to locate at New Strike?" asked Fred.
"That's what I am. I heard there was some rich pockets there, and I want to get my share. G'lang there, you jack rabbit!" and the man jerked the donkey's reins.
"That's a queer name for a donkey," commented Fred.
"Well, this is a queer donkey. I call him a jack rabbit because he's so different. He wouldn't jump if you fired a cannon off right under him."
"Did you ever try it?"
"No, but he stood right near a blast one day, when it went off before I was ready for it, and all he done was to wiggle one ear a bit, as though a fly had bit him. Oh, he's the slowest donkey I ever saw, and I've seen some pretty lazy ones. But do you expect to do any prospecting in New Strike? Where's your outfit?"
"I haven't any."
"Guess you'll find it pretty hard to pick up one in the camps. Every man'll want his own."
"Oh, I don't expect to look for gold."
"What are you going to look for then?"
"A job. I heard they wanted drivers for the ore carts at the stamp mills, and I thought I might fill the bill."
"I guess you could, if the places aren't all taken. But, why don't you try mining?"
"I don't believe I'm old enough."
"Oh, yes, you are. I came to California, 'way back in '49, when I was only a boy, and I've been mining ever since."
"My father was a miner," said Fred.
"Was he? What's his name?"
"Norman Stanley."
"What! Norman Stanley, who used to work in the Eagle's Claw mine?"
"Yes," replied the boy, who had often heard his father speak of the mine mentioned.
"Well, well! I know him like a brother. Just tell him you met old Bill Gardner, and he'll remember me all right."
"I will."
"And I'll speak a good word for you when we get to the new diggings," went on the old man. "I know every miner in these parts worth knowing. G'lang there, Kangaroo."
"I thought you said the donkey's name was Jack Rabbit."
"No, that's not his name. You see I call him something different every time."
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