CHAPTER XXIII.
AMONG THE SIERRAS.
Ben had heard of mayors, and once he had seen one, a pompous-lookingman who had once served in that capacity in an inland city of sometwenty thousand inhabitants, and he supposed that all mayors werealike. He could hardly believe his eyes, therefore, when he sawbefore him a man of medium height, dressed in a ragged shirt andtrousers, and wearing a hat once white, but now dirt-begrimed.
"Friends of yours, judge?" said the newcomer, speaking to Hunter,and indicating by a nod Ben and his companion.
"You ought to know one of them, mayor," said Hunter.
"Why, it's Bradley," said the mayor, extending his hand cordially."Glad to see you back again."
Bradley shook hands, and introduced Ben.
"I'm told you can tell me where to find Richard Dewey, colonel," saidBradley, employing another title of the mayor.
"I can't just say where he is," said the mayor; "but I can tell youwhere he meant to go."
"That will help us."
"You don't mean him any harm?" asked the mayor quickly.
"Far from it. We have the best news for him."
"Because Dick Dewey is a friend of mine, and I wouldn't bring himinto trouble for the richest claim in Californy."
"That's where we agree, colonel. The fact is, there's a young ladyin 'Frisco who has come out on purpose to find him-his sweetheart,and an heiress, at that. Me and Ben have agreed to find him for her,and that's the long and short of it."
"Then I'm with you, Bradley. I've seen the girl's picture. Dickshowed it to me one day, and she does credit to his taste. He's hadbad luck at the mines; but-"
"That won't matter when them two meet," said Bradley. "She's betterthan any claim he can find this side the mountains."
Bradley and our young hero spent the remainder of the day and thenight at Murphy's, hospitably provided for by the judge and themayor, and Ben listened with avidity to the stories of the minersand their varying luck. If he had not been in search of RichardDewey, he would have tarried at Murphy's, selected a claim, and goneto work the very next day. He was anxious to have his share in therough but fascinating life which these men were leading. To him itseemed like a constant picnic, with the prospect of drawing a goldenprize any day, provided you attended to business.
"That will come by and by," he thought to himself. "We must findCousin Ida's beau, and then we can attend to business."
Somehow, it seemed more natural to use the first name by which hehad known the young lady who employed him than the real name whichhe had learned later. It may be necessary to remind the reader thather name was Florence Douglas.
The next morning, after breakfast, the two friends left Murphy's,and bent their course toward the mountains where they were told thatRichard Dewey was likely to be found. The direction given them was,it must be confessed, not very definite, and the chances seemed verymuch against their succeeding in the object of their search.
A week later we will look in upon them toward nightfall. They wereamong the mountains now.
After the close of a laborious day they had tethered their animalsto a tree, and were considering a very important subject, namely,where to find anything that would serve for supper. Their supply ofprovisions was exhausted, and there was no means of purchasing afresh supply.
Bradley took out his supply of gold, and surveyed it ruefully.
"Ben," said he, "I never knew before how little good there is inbein' rich. Here we've both got money, and we can't get anything forit. It's cheap traveling for we haven't spent anything sence we'veleft Murphy's."
"I wish we could spend some of our money," said Ben uneasily. "Ifthere was only a baker's, or an eating-house here, I'd be willing topay five dollars for a good square meal."
"So would I. Somehow, gold don't look as good to me as it used to.We may starve to death with money in our pockets."
Ben's eyes were fixed upon a slender brook not far away thatthreaded its silvery way down a gentle incline from the midst ofunderbrush.
"I wonder if we can't catch some trout," he said. "Don't they havetrout in these mountains?"
"To be sure they do; and the best in the world," said Bradleybriskly. "The California mountain trout can't be beat."
"But we have no fishing-tackle," suggested Ben.
"Never mind, we have our guns."
"How will that help us?"
"We can shoot them, to be sure."
Ben looked surprised.
"Didn't you ever shoot pickerel? We can shoot trout in the same way.Come, Ben, follow me, and we'll see if we can't have a good supper,after all."
Leaving their mustangs to gather a supper from the scanty herbage intheir neighborhood, the two friends made their way to the brook. Ithad seemed very near, but proved to be fully a quarter of a mileaway. When they reached it they brought their guns into requisition,and soon obtained an appetizing mess of trout, which only needed theservice of fire to make a meal fit for an epicure.
"I can hardly wait to have them cooked," sard Ben. "I'm as hungry asa hunter. I understand what that means now."
"I sha'n't have any trouble in keeping up with you, Ben," said hiscompanion. "We'll have a supper fit for a king."
They gathered some dry sticks, and soon a fire was blazing, which,in the cool night air, sent out a welcome heat.
After supper they lay down on their backs and looked up into thedarkening sky. Ben felt that it was a strange situation. They werein the heart of the Sierras, miles, perhaps many miles, away fromany human being, thousands of miles away from the quiet villagewhere Ben had first seen the light. Yet he did not feel disturbed oralarmed. His wanderings had inspired self-reliance, and he did notallow himself to be troubled with anxious cares about the future. Ifby a wish he could have been conveyed back to his uncle's house inthe far East, he would have declined to avail himself of theprivilege. He had started out to make a living for himself, and hewas satisfied that if he persevered he would succeed in the end.
"What are you thinking about, Ben?" asked Bradley, after a longpause.
"I was thinking how strange it seems to be out here among themountains," answered Ben, still gazing on the scenery around him.
"I don't see anything strange about it," said his less imaginativecomrade. "Seein' we came here on our horses, it would be strange tobe anywhere else."
"I mean it is strange to think we are so far away from everybody."
"I don't foller you, Ben. I suppose it's sorter lonelylike, but thatain't new to me."
"I never realized how big the world was when I lived at home," saidBen, in a slow, thoughtful way.
"Yes, it's a pretty largish place, that's a fact."
"What were you thinking of, Jake?" asked Ben, in his turn.
"I was thinkin' of two things: whereabouts Dewey has managed to hidehimself, and then it occurred to me how consolin' it would be to meif I could light on a pound of smokin'-tobacco. I've got a pipe, butit ain't no good without tobacco."
"That don't trouble me much, Jake," said Ben, with a smile.
"It's the next thing to a good supper, Ben," said Bradley; "but Imight as well wish for the moon."
"You needn't wish in vain for that," said Ben, pointing out the orbof evening, with its pale-yellow light peeping over the talltree-tops, and irradiating the scene with its pensive shimmer.
"I can see it, but that don't help me any," said Bradley. "If I sawa world made of tobacco up in yonder sky, it would only make me feelworse because I couldn't get any."
"What was it you was a-wishin' for, friend?" asked an unfamiliarvoice.
Bradley sprang to his feet, and Ben followed suit.
They saw two strange figures, clad in Spanish style, with large,napping sombreros on their heads, who unheard, had descended themountains, and were now close upon them.
"Who are you?" asked Bradley doubtfully.
"Friends," was the reassuring reply. "We'll join your little partyif you have no objection. I'd invite you to take a drink if
therewas any saloon handy. As there isn't, jest help yourself to this,"and he drew out a pouch of smoking-tobacco.
"Just what I was wantin'," said Bradley, delighted. "You're welcome,whoever you are."
"Ben, can't you get together some sticks and light the fire? It'scoolish."
The Young Explorer; Or, Claiming His Fortune Page 23