Chapter 4

Upwards and onwards, through the scrub and brushwood and budding branches of trees, struggling over the trunks of fallen monarchs of the forest, that had been rooted up by the wind or struck down by lightning, and lay across their path, over rough volcanic rocks, and through ravines that trickled down tiny streams to swell the river below, they made their way slowly and tediously towards the probable lair of the deer, as the traces of their antlered prey grew fresher and more distinct every step, the slot being sometimes plainly visible in the moist soil, although for all they could otherwise see and hear they might be as far off from the wished-for prize as ever.

Presently, as they were emerging from a thicker growth of brushwood than they had yet passed through, they noticed, to their joy, right in front of them, feeding on a small grassy plateau under the lee of a jutting cliff, a head of what the Indian half-breed immediately declared to be a species of ibex, or mountain-sheep, that are commonly met with amid the peaks of the Rocky Mountains and its chains, far from the haunts of civilisation and men. It was only owing, indeed, to the fact that the hill diggers were away in the settlements, and from the scarcity of forage in their more secluded retreats, that they had approached so near to the miners' camp.

Caution was now the order of the day; and, Mr Rawlings still leading, with the Indian next him, and then the others one after the other in file, Josh proudly bringing up the rear, they stepped forwards with the utmost care, keeping the wind in their faces so that they should not be betrayed by the scent of their clothing reaching the timid animals, to do which, they had to execute a considerable detour, and take advantage of every chance of cover.

By degrees, they gradually got within a fair range of about eighty yards--for, although long-distance shooting may be very nice as a test of shooting at the Wimbledon targets, it is quite a different matter when your dinner depends on the success of your shot; for, with that consideration in view, even the surest of marksmen likes to get within easy reach of his game.

Mr Rawlings and Noah Webster, the two best shots of the party, levelled their rifles together--after a brief nod from the Indian half-breed which seemed to say "Now's your time"--and fired simultaneously, aiming at two of the wild sheep.

At the very moment they did so, the report of a third shot was heard, that seemed like the echo of their own double discharge, pinging through the keen rarefied air; and when the smoke had cleared off, and the reverberations of the sound had died away, rolling in fainter and fainter waves amongst the mountain hollows in the distance, three of the sheep were observed to be stretched lifeless on the plateau where they had been so recently feeding in peace, while the remainder of the flock were bounding away from peak to peak, seeking refuge in their native fortresses in the crags above.

Mr Rawlings did not notice anything unusual at first, as he had not heard the third rifle-shot; but Noah Webster and the half-breed, who were much better accustomed to woodcraft--having had their senses sharpened by dangers which seamen never have to encounter--were alive at once to the perception of something being wrong.

"Injuns, I reckon!" muttered Noah Webster under his breath, to which the half-breed growled a characteristic "Ugh," and the two sank down closer amid the grass, dragging down Mr Rawlings with them, Noah stopping his expostulations by clapping his hand across his mouth, and looking at him warningly, while he motioned to the rest behind them to follow their example.

All huddled together in the grass and tangled brushwood, hardly breathing for fear their presence might be discovered by some possible foe, they looked out carefully, awaiting the development of the situation.

It was only a minute or two at most, but it appeared hours to one or two, especially to poor Josh, who, in his fright of being scalped by a possible Indian, would have cheerfully given up all his chances of gold in the mine and everything, to have swapped places with the envious Jasper and been safe in camp.

The listeners, however, did not have to wait so very long.

In a little while they heard the sound of twigs being broken near them, as if some one were making his way through the copse. Soon they could distinguish, in addition, the heavy tramp of footsteps--they sounded as heavy as those of elephants to them, with their ears to the ground-- trampling down the thick undergrowth and rotten twigs in the thicket before them; and they could also hear a sort of muttering sound, like that caused by somebody speaking to himself in soliloquy.

The situation, if an exciting one, was not of any long duration, for while they were listening the denouement came.

A nondescript-clad figure came out of the brushwood into the open clearing, walking towards the spot where the mountain-sheep lay stretched on the sward, which was partly covered with the snow that remained unmelted under the lee of the cliff; and a voice, without doubt appertaining to the figure, exclaimed in unmistakable English accents--

"Well, I'm hanged if I ever heard of such a thing before in my life! I know I am a tidy shot, but if I were to mention this at home they would say I was telling a confounded lie! To think of killing three of those queer creatures at one shot! By Jove, who'd believe it?"

The listeners burst into a simultaneous roar of laughter.

"It's only a Britisher!" said Noah Webster; and they all rose from their covert and sallied out into the open, to the intense astonishment of the new-comer, whose surprise was evidently mixed with a proportionate amount of alarm, for he clutched his gun more tightly at the sight of them, and stood apparently on the defensive.

STORY ONE, CHAPTER EIGHT.

AN UNEXPECTED COINCIDENCE.

"We are friends," Mr Rawlings said, "some of us your countrymen, if, as I judge by your accent, you are an Englishman. We are working a mine in this neighbourhood. My name is Rawlings, and I am the proprietor of the mine."

"My name is Wilton--Ernest Wilton," the stranger said, taking the hand that Mr Rawlings held out. "I am glad indeed to meet with a party of my countrymen. Some little time since I started from Oregon with a prospecting party that was organised to hunt up various openings for the employment of capital in mining, and other speculative enterprises. With this party I crossed the Rocky Mountains, and went about from place to place, until about three days ago, when, while shooting amongst these hills of yours, either I lost them or they lost me, and here I have been wandering about ever since by myself, and would probably have come to grief if I had not met you. By profession I am a mining engineer, but the mine I had come from England to work turned out badly, and I accepted another engagement, thinking to do a little sporting and exploring on my own account before returning to England--nice sport I've found it, too!"

Mr Rawlings gave the stranger an earnest invitation to spend a day or two with them down at the creek.

The visitor readily accepted; and the game being lifted and slung on poles, the party started for the camp, Mr Rawlings strolling on with his new acquaintance, and the others following, talking earnestly together.

Arrived at the house, Mr Rawlings laughingly apologised for its state of dilapidation, but assured the visitor that it was far more comfortable than it looked.

Seth came to the doorway, and the other miners gathered round, to inspect both the welcome supply of fresh food and the stranger.

"This is Seth Allport, my lieutenant and manager," Mr Rawlings said. "Seth, this is Mr Wilton, an English mining engineer."

"Jerusalem!" exclaimed Seth. "Now, who would have thought that?"

"You seem surprised at my being an engineer," said Ernest Wilton, laughing at Seth's exclamation: for even the hungry miners, who had been previously clustered in groups around Josh and Jasper, surveying the cooking arrangements of the two darkeys with longing eyes, appeared to forget the claims of their appetites for the moment on the announcement of what evidently was a welcome piece of news, as they incontinently abandoned the grateful sight of the frizzling mutton, that was also sending forth the most savoury odours, and joined the leaders of the party who were interviewing the young Englishman. "I shouldn't have thought one of my profession by any means a strange visitor."

"It isn't the surprise, mister," replied Seth cordially. "No, that ain't it, quite, I reckon. It's the coincidence, as it were, at this particular time, mister. That's what's the matter! Jehosophat! it is queer, streenger!"

"I'm sure I ought to feel greatly honoured at such an imposing reception," said Ernest, still rather perplexed at the ovation, which seemed unaccountable to him. "It is not such a very uncommon thing for an engineer to be travelling through these regions, is it now? especially when you consider that it has been mainly through the exertions of men of my craft, and the railways that they have planned, following in their wake, that the country has been opened up at all. I should have thought engineers almost as common nowadays out west as blackberries in old England."

"You are right there," said Mr Rawlins's, hastening to explain the circumstances that had caused his arrival to be looked upon as such a piece of good fortune, quite apart from the friendly feelings with which they regarded him as a forlorn stranger whom they were glad to welcome to their camp. "But, you see, your coming, as Seth Allport has just remarked, has been almost coincident with a loss, or rather want, which we just begin to feel in our mining operations here. Your arrival has happened just in the nick of time, when we are nearly at a standstill through the want of a competent superintending engineer, like yourself, experienced in mines and mining work. Hands we have in plenty--willing and able hands, too," added Mr Rawlings, with an approving glance round at the assembled miners, who acknowledged the compliment with a hearty cheer for himself and Seth Allport;--"but we want a head to suggest how our efforts can be best directed, and our gear utilised, towards carrying out the object we all have in view. I and Seth have done our best; but, what with the overflow of water in the mine, and the necessity we think there is now for running out side cuttings from the main shaft, so as to strike the lode properly, we were fairly at our wits' end."

"I see," said Ernest Wilton musingly, "I see."

"An' if yer like to join us in that air capacity," interposed Seth, thinking that the other was merely keeping back his decision until he heard what terms might be offered him, and that a practical suggestion about money matters would settle the matter, "why, mister, we sha'n't grumble about the dollars, you bet! As yer knows, the Kernel kinder invited yer jest now, when we had no sort o' reckonin' as to who and what yer were. Tharr'll be no worry about yer share ov the plunder, neow--no, sir."

"Oh, pray don't mention that," exclaimed Ernest Wilton, pained at the interpretation put upon his reticence in accepting the offer of the position made him. "Nothing was further from my thoughts. I am too well acquainted with the open-handedness of the mining fraternity in the Golden State and elsewhere to dream of haggling about terms as to the payment of my poor services."

"What, then?" said Seth. "We don't want to bind you down to any fixed sort o' 'greement, if yu'd rather not."

"I was only considering," replied Ernest, vexed at his own hesitancy, "whether I could fairly give up the party with whom I started from Oregon, as I was under a species of engagement, as it were, although there was no absolutely signed and sealed undertaking. It wouldn't be right, I think, to leave them altogether without notice."

"Nary mind the half-hearted lot," said Noah Webster, at this juncture putting his spoke in the wheel. "Didn't they leave yer out alone in the mountains? I wouldn't give a red cent for sich pardners, I guess, boss. Raal mean skunks I calls 'em, and no mistake, sirree!"

"But I promised to stay with these fellows till we got over to the settlements on this side," said Ernest Wilton, smiling at Noah's characteristic vehemence against those half-hearted companions of his who had held back while he had gone forward by himself, "and I like to keep my word when I can, you know--at all events I ought to send and let them know where I am."

"We sha'n't quarrel about that," said Mr Rawlings kindly, to put the other at his ease, for some of the rough miners did not appear to like the Englishman's hanging back from jumping at their leader's offer.--"A man who is so anxious to keep his word, even with people who left him in the lurch, will be all the more likely to act straightforwardly towards us. Don't, however, let that fret you, for you will be able to communicate as easily with your friends, and more so, by stopping here with us, as by going on to the nearest frontier township. As soon as the snow has melted, and the roads become passable again, there will be plentiful supply of half-breeds, like Moose there, and other gentry with nothing particular to do, come hanging round us, who will gladly carry any message or letter for you across the hills--for a leetle consideration, of course!" added Mr Rawlings, with his bluff, hearty laugh.

"Ay, that there'll be," said Seth Allport. "Don't you trouble about that, mister; but jine with us a free heart, and run our injine for us, and we'll be downright glad, I guess!"

"That we will, sure!" chorussed the miners in a body, with a shout. And so, pressed with a rough but hearty cordiality, Ernest Wilton consented to be a member of the mining party in the same frank spirit, and was now saluted as one of the Minturne Creek adventurers in a series of ringing cheers that made the hill-sides echo again, and the cavernous canon sound the refrain afar.

Jasper and Josh, now quite reconciled after some "little bit of unpleasantness" between them, that had resulted in operations tending towards a lowering of the wool crop, as far as each was personally concerned, were unfeignedly glad the rather prolonged conference was over. They had been gazing at the group gathered around the young Englishman with a sort of puzzled wonder, and listening to what scraps of conversation they chanced to overhear, without being able to make out what the matter was about, with feelings of mingled expectancy and impatience at the length of the debate. But, now it was all settled, as they could see from the dispersal of the group, their joy was great, especially that of Master Jasper, who felt his dignity hurt, as a former steward and present butler in ordinary, on account of the neglect paid to his intimation that the viands were ready and "dinner served!"

"Hooray!" shouted out Josh, throwing up his battered straw-hat into the air, and capering round the improvised caboose, in response to the miners' ringing cheers on Ernest's consent to join the party and act as engineer of the mine. "Me berry glad Massa Britisher now am one of us, for sure! Golly, we nebbah hab to put up with dat nasty salt pork no more now, yup, yup! Massa Britisher um berry good shot, su-ah! Um shoot tree sheep at one go. Golly, Jasper, you no laugh. I tell you for true!"--And the negro cook grinned himself, to the full extent of his wide mouth and glistening ivory teeth, while administering this rebuke to his darkey brother.

"Shoo! go way wid yer nonsenz, and don't bodder me," responded the hungry and aggrieved Jasper, who did not appreciate the joke, the young Englishman's humorous mistake as to the result of his rifle-shot not having yet been promulgated for the benefit of those in camp. "Am none ob you gentlemens comin' to dinnah, hey?"--he called out more loudly,--"Massa Rawlins me tellee hab tings ready in brace o' shakes; and now tings fix up tarnation smart, nobody come. Um berry aggerabating--can't oberstand it, no how!"

"None o' your sass," said Seth gruffly, although the lurking smile on his face took off from the effect of his words, "none o' your sass, Jasper, or I'll keelhaul you, and make you fancy yourself aboard ship once more!"

"Me not sassy, Massa Seth. I'se hab too much respect for myself, sah, for dat! I only tells you as de meat's done and gettin' cool, dat's all, while yous be all jabberin' way jus like passul monkeys. No imperance in dat, massa, as I sees!"

"Stow that, you ugly cuss," said Seth good-humouredly, for he was used somewhat to Master Jasper's "cheek" by this time. "You're jest about as bad as a Philadelphy lawyer, when you've got your jaw tackle aboard! Now, boys," he added, hailing the miners, who were nothing loth to obey the signal, "the darkey says the vittles are ready, and you as wants to feed had better fall to!"

STORY ONE, CHAPTER NINE.

CONCERNING SAILOR BILL.

During this little interlude, Ernest Wilton had been closely engaged in watching the actions of the poor boy, "Sailor Bill."

His face had attracted him from the first moment he caught sight of him; but when he had more leisure to observe him, after the palaver with Mr Rawlings and the miners was over, and he noticed certain peculiarities about the object of his attention which had previously escaped his notice, his interest became greatly heightened.

Sailor Bill had altered very much in appearance since the day he had been picked up in the Bay of Biscay and taken on board the _Susan Jane_, a thin, delicate-looking boy with a pale face and a wasted frame. The keen healthy air and out-of-doors life out west had worked wonders with him, and he was now rosy and stalwart, his body having filled out and his cheeks grown much fatter, while he was even considerably taller than he had been some six months previously.

His bright golden-brown hair was, of course, the same, and so were the long dark lashes to the blue eyes that had so especially appealed to Captain Blowser's fancy when he had spoken about the boy's resemblance to a girl, for they yet bore the same peculiar far-away look as if they belonged to a person walking in his sleep, without intelligence or notice in them whatever.

As on board ship, Sailor Bill stuck to Seth Allport as his shadow, moving where he moved, stopping where he stopped, with the faithful attachment of a dog, albeit wanting in that expression of sagacity, which even the dullest specimen of the canine race exhibits on all occasions. Seth Allport seemed to be the mainspring of the boy's action, and after a time it became almost painful to watch the two, although the sailor had now grown accustomed to being followed about in so eccentric a fashion--as had, indeed, the rest of the party, who were not so distinctly singled out by the poor boy's regard; but it was all new and strange to Ernest Wilton as he watched and wondered.

"What is the matter with the boy?" asked he presently of Mr Rawlings, who, from the fixed observation of his companion, had been expecting the question. "Poor fellow, he doesn't seem all right in his mind--and a healthy, nice-looking boy, too!"

"Yes," said Mr Rawlings, tapping his forehead expressively, and speaking feelingly as he looked affectionately at Sailor Bill, whom all had learnt to like as they would have done a pet dog;--"something wrong there, although I hope in time he will get over it in the same way as he came by it, if God so wills it!"

"I suppose he's got some story attached to him, eh?" said Ernest Wilton.

"No doubt," answered Mr Rawlings; "but nobody but himself knows it!"

"How strangely you pique my curiosity! Besides, his face seems quite familiar to me, somehow or other. Yes, it's really quite familiar," he repeated.

"Does it?" said Mr Rawlings eagerly, hoping that the young engineer might be able to tell something.

"Yes," replied the other, "and I cannot tell how or where I have seen somebody like him before. But I will recollect presently, I have no doubt, after a little more reflection."

"We picked up the poor chap at sea, half-drowned, and bleeding from a very terrible cut across the forehead; and such a slender thin shaving of a boy that you would not have known him to be the same as he is now!"

"Indeed!" said Ernest Wilton with greater interest even than he had displayed before; and thereupon Mr Rawlings told the whole story of Sailor Bill's rescue, and how he afterwards saved the life of Seth Allport, to whom he had thenceforward attached himself; and how the worthy sailor had refused to part with him, and brought him out west.

The young engineer had been carefully noting all the points of the narrative while the other was speaking; and seemed to revolve the whole circumstances of Sailor Bill's history in his mind with a view to solving the mystery.

"I shouldn't be surprised," said he, when Mr Rawlings had completed his yarn, "if he belonged to that deserted ship which you subsequently came across; and that in the mutiny, or whatever else occurred on board, he got wounded and thrown into the sea."

"That is possible," said Mr Rawlings, "but not quite probable, considering the time that elapsed after our saving him to meeting with the water-logged vessel, and the distance we traversed in the interval. Besides, the boy was lashed to the spar that supported him in the water, and he couldn't have done that, with the wound he had received, by himself; so that gets rid of the theory of his being half-murdered and pitched overboard. Altogether, the story is one of those secrets of the sea that will never be unravelled, unless he comes to his senses at some time or other and tells us all about it!"

"And you don't know his name, or anything?"

"No, only just what I have told you."

"Had he no marks on his clothing, or anything in his pockets, that might serve for identification, should any one claim him by and by?" said Ernest Wilton, pursuing his interrogatories like a cross-examining barrister fussy over his first case.

"He had nothing on but his shirt and trousers, I tell you," said Mr Rawlings, laughing at what he called the badgering of the other, just as if he were in a witness-box, he said, "and boys don't carry many letters or documents about them, especially in their trousers' pockets; at all events, they didn't do so when I was a boy. Stay--" he added, bethinking himself suddenly of one item of the story he had apparently forgotten till then,--"I certainly passed over something."

"What?" said Ernest, still looking at Sailor Bill steadfastly, as if trying in vain to summon up the recollection of his features from the hazy depths of his memory; for the face of the boy seemed more and more familiar to him the longer he looked.

"Well," replied Mr Rawlings, with a little hesitation, "I don't suppose you want to know about the boy merely to satisfy an idle curiosity at seeing the poor, bereaved, young creature to be out of his mind?"

"Certainly not," said Ernest Wilton. "What you have already told me, besides his own innocent, guileless look, has interested me strangely in him; and, in addition to that, I'm sure I know something about him or somebody extremely like him, which I cannot at present recall to my recollection."