George Melville had no definite destination. He was traveling, not forpleasure, but for health, and his purpose was to select a residencein some high location, where the dry air would be favorable for hispulmonary difficulties.
A week later he had found a temporary home. One afternoon Herbert andhe, each on horseback, for at that time public lines of travel werefewer than at present, came suddenly upon a neat, one-story cottage inthe edge of the forest. It stood alone, but it was evidently the homeof one who aimed to add something of the graces of civilization to therudeness of frontier life.
They reined up simultaneously, and Melville, turning to Herbert, said:"There, Herbert, is my ideal of a residence. I should not be satisfiedwith a rude cabin. There I should find something of the comfort which weenjoy in New England."
"The situation is fine, too," said Herbert, looking about himadmiringly.
The cottage stood on a knoll. On either side were tall and statelytrees. A purling brook at the left rolled its silvery current down agentle declivity, and in front, for half a mile, was open country.
"I have a great mind to call and inquire who lives here." said Melville."Perhaps we can arrange to stay here all night."
"That is a good plan, Mr. Melville."
George Melville dismounted from his horse, and, approaching, tapped withthe handle of his whip on the door.
"Who's there?" inquired a smothered voice, as of one rousing himselffrom sleep.
"A stranger, but a friend," answered Melville.
There was a sound as of some one moving, and a tall man, clad in a roughsuit, came to the door, and looked inquiringly at Melville and his boycompanion.
Though his attire was rude, his face was refined, and had theindefinable air of one who would be more at home in the city than in thecountry.
"Delighted to see you both," he said, cordially, offering his hand. "Idon't live in a palace, and my servants are all absent, but if you willdeign to become my guests I will do what I can for your comfort."
"You have anticipated my request," said Melville. "Let me introducemyself as George Melville, an invalid by profession, just come from NewEngland in search of health. My young friend here is Herbert Carr, myprivate secretary and faithful companion, who has not yet found out whatit is to be in poor-health. Without him I should hardly have dared tocome so far alone."
"You are very welcome, Herbert," said the host, with pleasantfamiliarity. "Come in, both of you, and make yourselves at home."
The cottage contained two rooms. One was used as a bedchamber, the otheras a sitting room. On the walls were a few pictures, and on a smallbookcase against one side of the room were some twenty-five books.There was an easel and an unfinished picture in one corner, and a smallcollection of ordinary furniture.
"You are probably an artist," suggested Melville.
"Yes, you have hit it. I use both pen and pencil," and he mentioned aname known to Melville as that of a popular magazine writer.
I do not propose to give his real name, but we will know him as RobertFalkland.
"I am familiar with your name, Mr. Falkland," said Melville, "but I didnot expect to find you here."
"Probably not," answered Falkland. "I left the haunts of civilizationunexpectedly, some months ago, and even my publishers don't know where Iam."
"In search of health?" queried Melville.
"Not exactly. I did, however, feel in need of a change. I had beenrunning in a rut, and wanted to get out of it, so I left my lodgings inNew York and bought a ticket to St. Louis; arrived there, I determinedto come farther. So here I have been, living in communion with nature,seeing scarcely anybody, enjoying myself, on the whole, but sometimeslonging to see a new face."
"And you have built this cottage?"
"No; I bought it of its former occupant, but have done somethingtowards furnishing it; so that it has become characteristic of me and mytastes."
"How long have you lived here?"
"Three months; but my stay is drawing to a close."
"How is that?"
"Business that will not be put off calls me back to New York. In fact, Ihad appointed to-morrow for my departure."
Melville and Herbert exchanged a glance. It was evident that the samethought was in the mind of each.
"Mr. Falkland," said George Melville, "I have a proposal to make toyou."
The artist eyed him in some surprise.
"Go on," he said.
"I will buy this cottage of you, if you are willing."
Falkland smiled.
"This seems providential," he said. "We artists and men of lettersare apt to be short of money, and I confess I was pondering whether mycredit was good with anybody for a hundred dollars to pay my expensesEast. Once arrived there, there are plenty of publishers who will makeme advances on future work."
"Then we can probably make a bargain," said Mr. Melville. "Please nameyour price."
Now, I do not propose to show my ignorance of real estate values inColorado by naming the price which George Melville paid for his homein the wilderness. In fact, I do not know. I can only say that he gaveFalkland a check for the amount on a Boston bank, and a hundred in cashbesides.
"You are liberal, Mr. Melville," said Falkland, gratified. "I am afraidyou are not a business man. I have not found that business men overpay."
"You are right, I am not a business man," answered Melville, "thoughI wish my health would admit of my being so. As to the extra hundreddollars, I think it worth that much to come upon so comfortable a homeready to my hand. It will really be a home, such as the log cabin Ilooked forward to could not be."
"Thank you," said Falkland; "I won't pretend that I am indifferentto money, for I can't afford to be. I earn considerable sums, but,unfortunately, I never could keep money, or provide for the future."
"I don't know how it would be with me," said Melville, "for I am oneof those, fortunate or otherwise, who are born to a fortune. I havesometimes been sorry that I had not the incentive of poverty to induceme to work."
"Then, suppose we exchange lots," said the artist, lightly. "I shouldn'tobject to being wealthy."
"With all my heart," answered Melville. "Give me your health, yourliterary and artistic talent, and it is a bargain."
"I am afraid they are not transferable," said the artist, "but we won'tprolong the discussion now. I am neglecting the rites of hospitality;I must prepare supper for my guests. You must know that here in thewilderness I am my own cook and dishwasher."
"Let me help you?" said Melville.
"No, Mr. Melville," said Herbert, "it is more in my line. I have oftenhelped mother at home, and I don't believe you have had any experience."
"I confess I am a green hand," said Melville, laughing, "but, as Irishgirls just imported say, 'I am very willing.'"
"On the whole, I think the boy can assist me better," said Falkland."So, Mr. Melville, consider yourself an aristocratic visitor, whileHerbert and myself, sons of toil, will minister to your necessities."
"By the way, where do you get your supplies?" asked Melville.
"Eight miles away there is a mining camp and store. I ride over thereonce a week or oftener, and bring home what I need."
"What is the name of the camp?"
"Deer Creek. I will point out to Herbert, before I leave you, the bridlepath leading to it."
"Thank you. It will be a great advantage to us to know just how tolive."
With Herbert's help an appetizing repast was prepared, of which allthree partook with keen zest.
The next day Falkland took leave of them, and Melville and his boycompanion were left to settle down in their new home.
CHAPTER XXX. A TERRIBLE MOMENT.
Do and Dare — a Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune Page 29