Chapter 5

"I believe you honestly," replied Mr Rawlings, stretching forth his hand in token of good faith, which the other cordially grasped; "and, that being the case, I can tell you something more, which only Seth Allport and myself know about, and which we have kept to ourselves as a matter of confidence on the poor boy's behalf. Of course, Captain Blowser of the _Susan Jane_ knows about it, too, as he was entitled to by rights, from having picked the little chap up; but he's at sea, and it doesn't matter whether he divulges it or not, as it wouldn't be of much consequence to the boy; here on land, however, where anybody might track him out from interested or other motives, it is a very different matter; so I must ask you on your word of honour to keep the circumstance to yourself."

"Most decidedly," said Ernest Wilton heartily; "I pledge you my word I will--until, at all events, you think it best, should things so happen, that it ought to be divulged."

"All right," responded Mr Rawlings, trusting implicitly in the other's discretion. "Now, I'll tell you. When I said that the boy had only his shirt and trousers on in the way of garments, and that there was nothing in his pockets to disclose his identity, I related you only the simple truth, for there was nothing to trace him by; and I remember that Captain Blowser, of the _Susan Jane_, regretted afterwards that the spar to which we found him lashed had been cut adrift, without any one having examined it carefully to see whether there might not have been the name of the ship painted on the yard, or a portion of the canvas, or something else in the top along with the boy--for there was the topmast and yard, and all the gear of the whole mast complete, as if it had been carried away in a moment. But you recollect what I told you, of the boy's dashing out of the cabin as if he had been taken with a sudden frenzy, and going to rescue Seth Allport when he was swept over the side by the broken topsail-halliards in that squall?"

"Yes, quite well," answered Ernest Wilton.

"Well, after that he fainted away almost dead again for some time; and when I was bending over him trying to rouse him, I noticed a thin silken string round his neck, which I hadn't noticed previously, nor had Jasper the steward, although his shirt had been opened there, and his bosom bared in our efforts to resuscitate him, when he first took him down into the cabin."

"A fine silken string?" repeated the other, as Mr Rawlings paused for a moment in his recital; "a fine silken string round his neck?"

"Yes; and on drawing out the end of it I found a small parchment parcel, carefully sealed up with red sealing-wax, and an official kind of stamp over it which had been before concealed in an inside pocket cunningly secreted in the waist-part of the boy's flannel shirt."

"And this parcel contained?" said the young engineer with breathless attention.

"Ah! that's what I just don't know," said Mr Rawlings with provoking coolness.

STORY ONE, CHAPTER TEN.

A CONUNDRUM.

Ernest Wilton felt almost inclined to be vexed at first, thinking that the speaker had deliberately led him on with the intention, finally, of "selling" him, or perpetrating an April fool trick at his expense, it just being about that time of year. But after one steadfast glance at Mr Rawlings' unmoved face, which bore an expression of honest sincerity that could not be doubted, he laughed off his annoyance, for he could perceive that his companion was perfectly guiltless of any attempt at a joke, and had said what he did in serious confidence.

"Did you not open the packet?" said he, when he had stifled his laughter, which increased all the more from Mr Rawlings' unconsciousness of having done or said anything to provoke it.

"No, I didn't do it at the time, thinking it might be some little keepsake or love-token which the boy would not have liked any prying eyes to look into if he were in the full possession of his faculties; and afterwards, when I wanted to, thinking that it might disclose his identity, Seth wouldn't allow it."

"Hullo!" said that worthy, coming up at the moment, with Sailor Bill in close attendance behind him as usual, "what are you two chaps a conspiring about? I guess," he continued, with the broad smile that seemed to illumine the whole of his rugged countenance and give it such a pleasant, cheery look, "you're up to some mischief about me, hey? I kalkerlate I heard my name kinder mentioned."

"We were talking about the boy, Seth," said Mr Rawlings, smiling too.

"Speakin' 'bout my b'y, wer' yer?" said he, turning half round as he spoke, to pat Sailor Bill's head kindly. "Poor feller! yer might ha' sunthin' a sight worse ter talk about, I reckon! He's a chap as can't do harm to none whatsomdever, if he can't do 'em no good, as he once did to me, I guess."

"You can't forget that, Seth?" said Mr Rawlings.

"No, nor won't as long as this chile draws breath nether," answered the ex-mate of the _Susan Jane_, feelingly, with a look of almost parental fondness at the boy.

"Mr Wilton here was wondering, Seth," continued Mr Rawlings, "why you would not let me open that package round poor Sailor Bill's neck, to see whether it would give us any clue to who he is."

The smile faded instantly from Seth Allport's face, which reassumed its normal grim, firm look, just as if some one had dealt him what he would have called a "back-hander."

"Mr Wilton may wonder, and you too, Mr Rawlings, but I jest won't that, siree, not if I know it. Nary a soul shall look upon it, I guess, till that thar b'y opens it hisself. I said that months agone, Rawlings, as you knows well, and I say it now agin."

"I wish I could recollect whom he resembles, really," said Ernest Wilton, to give a turn to the conversation, which had got into such an unpleasant hitch. "There is nothing so worrying as to try and puzzle over a face which you seem to remember and which you cannot place."

"Yes," said Mr Rawlings; "like a name sometimes seems to hover right on the tip of your tongue, and yet you can't get it out, try what you may. I suppose you left England only lately?"

"I?" replied the young engineer. "Why, it's nearly four years since I left Liverpool for America--quite."

"Perhaps you keep up communication, however, with the tight little island, eh?" said Mr Rawlings. "I daresay some one was sorry to lose you."

"Not they," said Ernest Wilton carelessly. "`I care for nobody, no, not I, and nobody cares for me,'" he hummed in a rich baritone voice, although there was a tone of sadness in it that belied the tenor of the words. "I assure you," he added presently, in one of those sudden bursts of confidence in which some of us are apt to indulge sometimes when we get a sympathetic listener, "that I haven't written home or heard from thence for more than three years, and they will have thought me dead by this time! I've no doubt there is a large parcel of letters and papers awaiting me now in New York, where I told them to address me when I came to America; for I've not been back there either since the day I landed, when I started straight across the continent for California, with a gentleman who had an interest in some mines there, with whom I came over in the same steamer from Liverpool; and I have never been eastwards again, or turned my face thither till I came through Oregon as far as this place, which is still considerable to the west, I think, eh?"

And he laughed lightly, as if he did not care to talk much of home or its associations.

"I don't think it's quite right, though," suggested Mr Rawlings in his grave, kind way, "altogether to abandon one's relatives and friends in that fashion."

"No?" said the young man inquiringly; and then added more frankly, impressed by the manner of the other, "Well, perhaps it isn't quite the right thing to do; but I have been a rover almost all my life, and a wanderer from home. Besides, my parents are both dead, and there's nobody now who particularly cares about me or my welfare in old England."

"_Not_ anybody?" persisted Mr Rawlings, who thought it strange that such a nice, handsome fellow as the young engineer appeared should be without some tie in the world to hold him to his country.

"I certainly have an uncle and aunt and some cousins," said Ernest Wilton, acknowledging his relatives as if he were confessing some peccadillo; "and my aunt used to be fond of me as a boy, I remember well."

"Then I should write to her," said Mr Rawlings. "When you get as old as I am, you won't like to feel yourself alone amongst strangers, and without some one to connect you with the past of your childhood."

"I will write to my aunt, then, as you have reminded me of my shortcomings," said Ernest Wilton, laughing. "I promise you that at any rate."

"That's a good fellow. I'm sure you won't regret it afterwards," said Mr Rawlings, who was then proceeding to ask the young engineer something about his journey from California to Dakota when Seth, who had listened patiently to their conversation so far, now interrupted them.

"Come, mister," said he, addressing Ernest Wilton, "I suggest--"

"Do call me by my right name, please," interposed the good-humoured young fellow, speaking in such a sort of pleading way that Seth could not take offence.

"Waal, thin, ef yer are so partick'ler," replied that worthy, with a very bad pretence of being angry, "kim along, Wilton, thaar now! and see to this mine of ourn that you've now got to look arter. How does yer like that style anyhow?"

"Decidedly better," responded the young engineer, with his frank, light-hearted laugh, in which Mr Rawlings joined.

And the four then proceeded in the direction of the shaft, Seth leading the way, with Sailor Bill, as usual behind him.

STORY ONE, CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A ROUNDABOUT ROUTE.

"It must have been a rough journey for you, all the way from Oregon in almost the depth of winter," said Mr Rawlings, as he and Ernest Wilton followed after Seth Allport, seizing the opportunity of proceeding with the conversation which the ex-mate had interrupted.

Mr Rawlings had taken a strong fancy to the young Englishman from the first, and the more he saw of his frank, open nature, the more he liked him.

The feeling, too, was evidently mutual, the younger man being attracted by the bluff, hearty, honest outspokenness of the other, who could not conceal his unaffected delight at once more coming across one from the old country, with whom he could converse on a different footing than he could with the rough miners who composed the majority of his camp party--men who, with the exception of Seth Allport, were totally uneducated and uncultivated. Of course, Mr Rawlings was used to these, and got along with them well enough; but, that was no reason why he should not enjoy a chat with a person more of his own class and status in life, was it?

Rather the reverse, one would think; for, to Mr Rawlings, the conversation of Ernest Wilton, after the usual style of talk to which he had now been habituated for months, came as grateful as water to a thirsty land--or, to use a parallel which those who had been accustomed to living on board ship will readily appreciate, as pleasant to the taste as fresh bread, or "soft tack," when one has been eating nothing but hard sea biscuits for some time previously.

To Ernest Wilton, also, it was a matter of gratification to be able to speak freely with a fellow-countrymen, after his recent companionship with half-breeds and Indians; and he was nothing loth to accept the other's overtures towards a friendly chat, to pave the way for future intimacy, such as he saw would probably result between them, should they remain long together, a possibility which recent events clearly prognosticated and which he cordially welcomed.

"Yes, it was a rough journey, with a vengeance," he replied, in answer to the implied question in Mr Rawlings' remark, "such a journey as I certainly never anticipated; and my only wonder is, how I accomplished it. But then, you know, over here in the New World--and it is new to me, every inch of it, the more I see of it--they don't measure distances the same as people do in Europe. Why, a degree of latitude or longitude is less thought of than a furlong by those at home; and, in some of the backwood settlements, neighbours are as far-away from each other as the capital cities of the continent are separated."

"That is true," said Mr Rawlings. "The space appears so illimitable that one's ideas as to measurement expand in a similar way, and the agriculturists calculate by the square mile instead of the acre in all their estimates of the land. But, about your journey? I'm curious to know what route you took to come from Oregon here."

"You may well ask," replied the young engineer, breaking into a hearty laugh, which was so catching, that Mr Rawlings followed suit, and even Seth thought it incumbent on him to look back over his shoulder and grin, "for it was, I believe, the most roundabout trip ever planned. But, in order to understand it properly, you must learn what sort of a party accompanied me. While in California, I got mixed up with all sorts of persons, engaged in companies started to carry out everything under the sun, and even under the earth: scientific men with hobbies, capitalists with money to spend, and speculators with nothing, who wished to enrich themselves from the pockets of the unwary; and, while at a dinner one day in Sacramento, where a lot of directors and shareholders of the Alba Eldorado were enlarging on the good fortune attending mining schemes in general, and their own especial venture in particular, a proposal was made that, as such fabulous reports had been circulated of the Bonanza mine in Montana, some of the surplus capital of the company should be expended in looking after another lode in the same vicinity. The proposal was eagerly accepted, and as I happened to be present I was asked to join the expedition."

"But that was in California," suggested Mr Rawlings, smiling, "and you needn't have gone through all Oregon to get to Montana, surely--eh?"

"Certainly not," said Ernest Wilton; "and that's exactly what I wish to explain. It was all those scientific men with their hobbies that led us such a dance! You see, it was a party of rich people, whose time was at their own disposal, and they could do pretty nearly as they liked. At the very first start, it was arranged that our first point of destination should be the Warm Springs in the centre of Oregon; and so to the Warm Springs we went. I believe the principal capitalist of the party thought they might be utilised for the purposes of a Universal Bath Company, Limited, to `ablutionise'--that was his word, I assure you--the whole world."

"Nonsense, you are joking!" said Mr Rawlings, thinking the other was trying to chaff him.

"Not a bit of it--`that's a fact,' as our American friend there would say," replied the young Englishman, nodding in the direction of Seth Allport to show that he had already noticed his pronunciation and mode of speech.

"All right," said Mr Rawlings. "I can credit your financier coining the new word ablutionise; but I can't exactly stomach the `Universal Bath Company' quite! I am an old soldier, however; so proceed, and I promise not to be very much surprised at any of your traveller's tales!"

"Really, I am not exaggerating at all," said Ernest Wilton. "That ignorant purse-proud fellow wished to start a company for almost everything we came across in our route. I need not add that he wasn't an American."

"No, it's only Englishmen that make themselves such fools over here," replied Mr Rawlings, heaving a sigh, as if he thought himself one of the number for having anything to do with the Minturne Creek venture. "If they have any bad points at home, they get them more developed by the passage across the ocean. What is the old Latin adage we used to learn at school--eh?"

"`Coelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt,'" quoted the young engineer. "`Those who travel abroad may change their scene of action, but can't alter their own minds.'"

"Yes, that's it," replied Mr Rawlings. "But go on with your journey."

"Well," continued the other, "when we had done the Warm Springs, one of the scientific gentlemen, who wanted to make soap cheap, I presume, suggested that the exploring party should proceed to the celebrated Alkali Desert in Idaho, which I daresay you've heard of?"

"I have," answered Mr Rawlings. "It's to the south of the Snake River, just below Boise City and the Salmon River Mountains. My poor cousin Ned was there a year or two prospecting, he told me."

"Indeed!" said the young engineer. "Then I've no doubt you liked the place as little as I did. And as for those Snake Indians, they're the worst lot I ever came across yet."

"They are so," said Mr Rawlings. "Born thieves, every one--at least, I have got Ned's word for it."

"I was grateful to them for one thing, however," said Ernest Wilton, laughing again at the recollection. "They so disgusted our great English company-starting capitalist that he would come no further with us; and we were well rid of his bumptious airs and vulgarity for the rest of the journey."

"I suppose you then came in a bee-line through Wyoming?" said Mr Rawlings.

"Oh dear, no," answered the engineer. "We were doomed to execute a series of right-angled triangles all through our erratic course. From the Alkali Desert--or rather, Three Forks Camp, which was our halting-place--we made for the Rocky Mountains, so as to reach the Yellowstone River on this side. And that was where we had such a terrible time of it."

"I expect so," said Mr Rawlings; "the Rocky Mountains are no joke in winter time, for they are not easy by any means even in summer."

"We lost a lot of animals and nearly all our baggage," continued Ernest Wilton; "so when we got to Virginia City, on the Yellowstone, the majority of our party stopped there. I would have stopped too, I must confess, but a very energetic scientific gentleman suggested our pushing on, to explore some oil wells that were reported to be situated to the south of the Big Horn range."

"I know that place well," said Mr Rawlings eagerly. "The petroleum springs are by Poison Spring Creek, as the Indians call it."

"Do they?" said Ernest Wilton. "We couldn't see any creek at all; and even the scientific gentleman got tired out, and went back to Virginia City to join the others, and recruit, before investigating the mining districts of Montana. I was so sick of the lot, however, that I determined to push on to Bismark, and strike the line of the Northern Pacific, waiting till the spring came before I undertook any further exploring work."

"And that's how you came to us?" said Mr Rawlings.

"Yes. Two of us started to cross the Black Hills from Wyoming, along with the Indians who engaged to guide us. According to the map I had with me, our route would have been to strike the north fork of the Cheyenne River, and follow it up till it emptied itself into the Missouri, when we could have pursued the left bank of the latter due north, until it took us right into the town of Bismark, which is, I believe, the terminus of the railway."

"Bless you! why it runs more than 100 miles farther west already," said Mr Rawlings; "and if you wish still to communicate with your friends, who, I can perceive from your story, there is every reason for you to be pained at your separation from, why, you'll be able to join them in Virginia City itself, in a short trip by the cars from Bismark."

"Thanks," said Ernest Wilton, appreciating the other's sly allusion to those dear companions of his with whom he had so little in keeping. "As I will be within easy reach of them in case of need, I shall be all the better pleased to remain with you, as then I'll have two strings to my bow! But, to finish my narrative:--the weather was so bad after we left the supposed site of the oil wells, that we could make no headway at all; and on our arriving at Fort Phil Kearney, which, to our mortification, was deserted, my solitary white companion, who had accompanied me faithfully so far, turned tail with two of the remaining Indians--of the Crow tribe, of course, rascally fellows, just like the birds from whom they are named!"

"You like those chaps," said Mr Rawlings with a smile, "dearly, eh?"

"I do `muchly,' as Artemus Ward says," responded Ernest. "I should like to pay them out! But to make a long story short, with the remaining two Indian guides--who only came with me after I promised them a small fortune on my reaching a settlement--I managed to lose my way utterly; and then having lost the guides also, I wandered about hungry and cold until I met your hunters amongst the mountains, when all my troubles were ended."

"Thank goodness they met you!" said Mr Rawlings cordially. "But those Indians must have deserted," he continued musingly. "They are much too knowing to have lost their way."

"Yes, I know it," said Ernest Wilton. "They were afraid of encountering any of the Sioux, who are near you, I think."

"Yes, too close to be pleasant," said Mr Rawlings. "But we have not had any trouble with them yet."

"And I hope you won't at all," responded the other with much heartiness. "Those Crow Indians with me were continually talking about Red Cloud and Spotted Tail. I think those were the names of the chiefs they mentioned."

"Yes," replied Mr Rawlings, "both have Indian reservations in Dakota."

"Is that so? I thought that might be only their yarring when they said so; but they mentioned those two chiefs in particular, I remember now, and asserted that they intended `digging up the hatchet,' as they termed it in their euphonious language, as soon as the spring came round! However, I wouldn't place much credence in their statement, I assure you. Those Crows are such curs that they would say anything rather than venture `within measurable distance,' as the phrase goes, of a possible enemy." And Ernest Wilton laughed.

"I have heard some similar rumours myself," said Mr Rawlings more gravely. "The last scout that came here from the township, just before the winter set in regularly, brought word that the Sioux were preparing for the war-path, or something to that effect; and, as the red men themselves say, there is never much smoke without fire. I hope to goodness, though, that it is only rumour! An Indian war is a terrible thing, my boy. I've seen the effects of one, years since, and never forgotten it,"--and Mr Rawlings laid his hand on Ernest Wilton's shoulder, as if to impress his words more strongly. "It wouldn't be pleasant for us here were another to break out now, and we so far from the settlements."

"Isn't there a military station near this of the United States troops?" asked the young engineer.

"About a hundred miles off, or so," replied Mr Rawlings.

"Oh, that's pretty close for the backwoods!" said Ernest Wilton lightly, as he quickened his steps to join Seth Allport, who had hailed out to the two stragglers to "hurry up," for the "lazy lubbers" that they were; the ex-mate of the _Susan Jane_ having awaited with some considerable impatience, for a rather unconscionable length of time, the end of the interview between the two Englishmen, although he was too good-hearted, and had too much good taste, to interrupt them before he saw that their chat was finished.

STORY ONE, CHAPTER TWELVE.

"LOVE'S LABOUR LOST."

"Now, mister," said Seth Allport, when the young engineer closed-up to his side, "I guess you've seed our location, and you've seed ourselves:--now, see the mine afore you. What d'ye think of it, hey?"

The "location" looked as favourable a one for mining purposes as it was charming to the eye; but appearances are not everything to those who toil beneath the surface of the earth, and so Ernest Wilton well knew.