Digging for Gold A Story of California - Horatio Alger - ebook
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“Mother, this is an important day for me,” said Grant Colburn, as he entered the kitchen with an armful of wood, and deposited it in the box behind the stove.His mother looked up from the table where she was cutting out pie crust, and asked in surprise, “What do you mean, Grant? Why is to-day any different from ordinary days?”“I am sixteen to-day, mother!”

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Digging for Gold

A Story of California

By

Horatio Alger, Jr.

 

First Appearance of Dionysius

 

CHAPTER I. GRANT AND HIS MOTHER.

“Mother, this is an important day for me,” said Grant Colburn, as he entered the kitchen with an armful of wood, and deposited it in the box behind the stove.

His mother looked up from the table where she was cutting out pie crust, and asked in surprise, “What do you mean, Grant? Why is to-day any different from ordinary days?”

“I am sixteen to-day, mother!”

“So you are, Grant. I ought to have thought of it. I am sorry,” she added wistfully, “that I haven’t got a present for you, but you know Mr. Tarbox——”

“Is the stingiest man in the country. Yes, I know that well enough.”

“I actually haven’t a cent that I can call my own, Grant.”

“I know that very well, mother. It was an unlucky day when you married that old skinflint.”

“Don’t call him that, Grant,” said his mother, with an apprehensive look in the direction of the door.

“He’s all that, and more if possible. When did he give you any money last?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“And how much did he give you at that time?”

“Twenty-five cents.”

“What a shame! Why, if you had hired out as his housekeeper he would have been compelled to give you more.”

“Yes, Grant,” sighed Mrs. Tarbox, “I wish I were his housekeeper instead of his wife. I should be more independent.”

“He made a good bargain when he married you, mother. But I never understood why you married him.”

“I acted for the best, as I thought, Grant. You know how your poor father left us. After his affairs were settled, there were only two hundred and fifty dollars left, and you were but twelve years old. I took in sewing, and earned what I could, but at the end of a year I had used up a hundred dollars of our small capital. Then Mr. Tarbox asked me to marry him, and I agreed, for I thought it would give us a comfortable home.”

“A comfortable home!” repeated Grant. “We have enough to eat, it is true, but you never worked so hard in your life, and I can say the same for myself. I was barely fourteen when Mr. Tarbox took me away from school, and since then I have had to work early and late. At five o’clock, winter and summer, I have to turn out of bed, and work all day, so that when night comes I am dead tired.”

“That is true, Grant,” said his mother, with a look of distress. “You work too hard for a boy of your age.”

“And what do I get for it?” continued Grant indignantly. “I haven’t any clothes. Charlie Titus asked me the other day why I didn’t go to church. I was ashamed to tell himthat it was because I had no clothes fit to wear there. It is a year since I had my last suit, and now I have grown out of it. My coat is too short in the sleeves, and my pantaloons in the legs.”

“Perhaps I can lengthen them out, Grant.”

“You did it six months ago. There is no more chance. No, I’ll tell you what I am going to do. I’ll ask Mr. Tarbox for a new suit, and as it is my birthday, perhaps he will open his heart and be generous for once.”

“It is a good plan, Grant. There he is now, out by the well curb.”

“Then I’ll speak at once. Wish me luck, mother.”

“I do, my son. I heartily wish you good luck now and always.”

Grant opened the side door, and went out into the yard. Seth Tarbox looked up, and his glance fell upon his step-son.

“Come here, Grant,” he said, “I want you to turn the grindstone while I sharpen my scythe.”

“Wait a minute, Mr. Tarbox. I want to speak to you.”

“Go ahead! You can speak if you want to,” said Tarbox, slightly surprised.

“It is my birthday to-day.”

“Is it? How old be you?”

“Sixteen.”

“A boy of sixteen ought to do a great deal of work. Why, you are ’most a man.”

“I do a good deal of work, Mr. Tarbox, but I don’t seem to get much pay for it.”

“Hey? You want pay? Why, don’t you get your victuals and clothes?”

“I get my victuals, yes. But I don’t get clothes, and that is just what I want to speak to you about.”

Mr. Tarbox began to grow uneasy. He knew what was coming.

“What have you got on, I’d like to know?” he inquired.

“Some rags and overalls,” answered Grant bluntly.

“They’re good enough to work in. You’ve got a suit to wear Sundays.”

“Have I? It’s hardly fit to wear common days. Why, it’s a year since I had the suit, and I’ve outgrown it.”

“I’m afraid you’re getting proud, Grant,” said his step-father uneasily.

“I’m not proud of my clothes, I can tell you that. Mr. Tarbox, I’ve worked for you the last year early and late, and I think I ought to have a new suit. It will make a nice birthday present.”

“Money’s very skerce, Grant,” said his step-father uneasily, “and clothes are very high. I gave twelve dollars for that last suit of yours. It came hard. Think how long it takes to earn twelve dollars. I haven’t had a suit myself for ten months.”

“But you can have one if you want it.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Grant,” said Mr. Tarbox, with a bright idea. “You’re ’most as big as I am. You’re unusually large for your age. I’ll buy a new suit for myself, and give you mine. Your mother can fix it over to fit you.”

Grant’s face assumed a look of disgust.

“Thank you, Mr. Tarbox,” he said, “but I don’t want to wear your old clothes. If I can’t have a new suit I don’t want any.”

“’Pears to me you’re mighty particular.”

“I don’t think so. I only want what’s right. Most boys of my age have at least two new suits a year. Charlie Titus had three.”

“Then his father’s very foolish to gratify his love of finery. Come, we’d better go to work.”

“You haven’t answered my question yet, Mr. Tarbox.”

“What is it?” asked Tarbox peevishly.

“Will you buy me a new suit?”

“Wait two or three months, Grant.”

“Why should I wait two or three months? I need the clothes now.”

“Money may be easier then.”

“I am not willing to wait.”

“’Pears to me you’re very headstrong, Grant Colburn,” said the farmer in a tone of displeasure.

“I want my rights. I won’t work if you are going to deal so closely with me.”

Seth Tarbox frowned, and looked perplexed. But presently an idea came to him and his face smoothed.

“Perhaps we can fix it, Grant,” he said in a conciliatory tone.

Grant felt encouraged. It looked as if his request were to be granted.

“I shall be very much obliged to you,” he said.

“Wait a minute! You aint got my idea. Your mother has money.”

“What if she has?” asked Grant suspiciously.

“If she will lend you ten or twelve dollars to buy a suit I’ll make it up to her in, say three or four months.”

Grant’s face darkened. He knew very well that the money never would be repaid, and he penetrated the crafty design of his step-father.

“No, Mr. Tarbox,” he said. “My mother’s money must not be touched. There’s little enough of it, and I don’t want her to run the risk of losing it.”

“But she won’t lose it. Didn’t I say I would pay it back?”

“Why can’t you advance the money yourself?”

“Didn’t I tell you money was skerce?” said Seth Tarbox irritably.

“I know you’ve got money in two savings banks, besides some railroad bonds. Tom Wilson told me the other day that you had over five thousand dollars in money and bonds.”

“Tom Wilson don’t know anything about my affairs,” said Tarbox hastily. “I’ll think it over, Grant, and mebbe—I won’t promise—I’ll see what I can do for you. Now we’ll go to work. It’s a sin to be idle.”

CHAPTER II. RODNEY BARTLETT.

Mr. Tarbox’s farm was located in Woodburn, rather a small town in Iowa. He was originally from Connecticut, but at the age of thirty removed to the then frontier Western State. He owned a large farm, which he had bought at the government price of one dollar and a quarter an acre. He also owned a smaller farm a mile and a half west of the one he occupied, and this he cultivated on shares. It had been a lucky purchase, for a railway intersected it, and he had obtained a large price for the land used. Besides his two farms, he had from six to seven thousand dollars in money; yet it seemed that the richer he grew the meaner he became. He had a married daughter, living in Crestville, six miles away, and when he died she and her family would no doubt inherit the miserly farmer’s possessions. Like her father she was selfish and close so far as others were concerned, but she was willing to spend money on herself. She had a son about the age of Grant, who liked to wear good clothes, and was something of a dude. His name was Rodney Bartlett, and he looked down with infinite contempt on his grandfather’s hard-working stepson.

Just before twelve o’clock a smart looking buggy drove into the yard. The occupants of the buggy were Rodney and his mother.

“Hey, you!” he called out to Grant, “come and hold the horse while we get out.”

Grant came forward and did as he was requested. Had Rodney been alone he would not have heeded the demand, but Mrs. Bartlett’s sex claimed deference, though he did not like her.

“Just go in and tell your mother we’ve come to dinner.”

But Grant was spared the trouble, for the farmer came up at this moment.

“Howdy do, Sophia!” he said. “What sent you over?”

“I wanted to consult you about a little matter of business, father. I hope Mrs. Tarbox will have enough dinner for us.”

“I reckon so, I reckon so,” said Seth Tarbox, who, to do him justice, was not mean as regarded the table. “How’s your husband?”

“Oh, he’s ailing as usual. He’s lazy and shiftless, and if it wasn’t for me I don’t know what would become of us.”

By this time the two had entered the house. Rodney stayed behind, and glanced superciliously at Grant.

“Seems to me you’re looking shabbier than ever,” he said.

“You’re right there,” said Grant bitterly, “but it isn’t my fault.”

“Whose is it?”

“Your grandfather’s. He won’t buy me any clothes.”

“Well, you’re not kin to him.”

“I know that, but I work hard and earn a great deal more than I get.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe I can hunt up one of my old suits for you,” Rodney added patronizingly.

“Thank you, but I don’t want anybody’s cast-off clothes; at any rate, not yours.”

“You’re getting proud,” sneered Rodney.

“You can call it that if you like.”

“Don’t you wish you was me, so you could wear good clothes all the time?”

“I should like to wear the good clothes, but I’d rather be myself than anybody else.”

“Some time I shall be rich,” said Rodney complacently. “I shall have all grandfather’s money.”

“Won’t it go to your mother?”

“Oh, well, she’ll give it to me. I hope you don’t think you and your mother will get any of it?”

“We ought to, for mother is making a slave of herself, but I don’t think we will. If your grandfather would do more for us now we wouldn’t mind inheriting anything.”

There was a tapping on the front window.

“That means dinner, I suppose,” said Grant.

“Are you going to sit down with us?” asked Rodney, eying Grant’s costume with disfavor.

“Yes.”

“In those clothes?”

“I haven’t time to change them. Besides my Sunday suit isn’t much better.”

At the table, toward the close of the meal, Rodney said, “Grandfather, Grant isn’t dressed very well.”

Seth Tarbox frowned.

“Has he been complaining to you?” he asked. “He’s been pesterin’ all the mornin’ about new clothes. I told him money was skerce.”

“I can save you expense, grandfather. I will give him an old suit of mine—one I have cast off.”

“Why, that’s an excellent plan,” said Tarbox, brightening up. “Do you hear that, Grant? You won’t need to buy a new suit for yourself now.”

“I don’t care for any of Rodney’s old clothes,” answered Grant, with an indignant flush.

“Sho! sho! You’re acting very contrary. Rodney’s suit is a good deal better than yours, I’ve no doubt.”

“I don’t know whether it is or not, but I’m entitled to new clothes, and I want them.”

“What do you say to that, Mrs. Tarbox?” demanded the farmer, looking over at his wife.

“I say that he is right. Grant has worked hard, Mr. Tarbox, and he ought to be decently dressed.”

“Rodney,” said his mother, “your kind offer is thrown away.”

“So I see,” said Rodney, extending his plate for another piece of pie.

“I’m sorry you take Grant’s part, Mrs. T.,” said the farmer. “I won’t countenance no extravagance. What’s the use of spending good money when a suit of clothes is offered for nothing.”

“If the suit is a good one,” retorted Grant, “why does Rodney lay it aside?”

“There is a difference between him and you,” said Mrs. Bartlett in an acid tone.

“What difference?”

“I’m a gentleman and you’re a farm boy,” said Rodney, taking it upon himself to answer.

“I shan’t always be a farm boy!”

“No, you won’t be a boy when you’re grown up,” returned Rodney, looking around to see if his joke were appreciated.

“There aint no disgrace in bein’ a farm boy,” said Seth Tarbox. “I worked on a farm myself when I was a boy, and I’ve worked on a farm ever since.”

“I’m going to college, and be a lawyer,” said Rodney in a consequential tone.

“It costs a sight of money to go to college, Sophia,” said Tarbox deprecatingly.

“I shall make a lot of money when I am a lawyer,” explained Rodney. “Why, I read in the paper that there are some lawyers that make fifty thousand dollars. Besides, I may get elected to Congress. That’s better than working on a farm. When Grant is getting fifteen dollars a month and his board, as a hired man on a farm, I will ride in my carriage, and live like a gentleman.”

“I may be a rich man myself,” interrupted Grant.

“You a rich man! Ho, ho!” laughed Rodney. “You look like it.”

“No, I don’t look like it, but I may get there all the same.”

“You talk a good deal for a boy of your age,” remarked Mrs. Bartlett in a tone of rebuke.

“No more than Rodney.”

But Grant, looking at his mother, saw that she was disturbed, and refrained from noticing any further speeches of his young antagonist.

“By the way, father,” said Mrs. Bartlett, “you remember John Heywood, of our town?”

“Yes; what of him?”

“He’s just got back from California.”

“It’s dreadful expensive goin’ to California.”

“That isn’t of much account if you can bring back a lot of money.”

“Did John Heywood bring back a lot of money?” asked the farmer, pricking up his ears.

“He brought back ten thousand dollars.”

“Sho! How you talk!”

“It’s true, every word of it.”

“How did he make it?”

“Mining, I believe. He’s bought the Ezra Jones place, and is going to put up a nice house.”

Among the most interested listeners was Grant Colburn. His color went and came, and he seemed excited.

“How long was Mr. Heywood in California,” he asked.

“About a year. He was gone a good deal longer, for he went across the plains, and it took four months. He came back across the Isthmus.”

“I would like to go California,” said Grant thoughtfully.

“You go to California! A boy like you!” repeated Mrs. Bartlett scornfully. “What could you do?”

“I could make more money than I do here,” answered Grant with spirit.

“I reckon you won’t go in a hurry,” said Seth Tarbox composedly. “You haven’t money enough to get you twenty-five miles, and I s’pose it’s as much as two thousand miles from Iowa to Californy.”

Grant felt that there was a good deal of truth in his step-father’s words, but the idea had found lodgment in his brain, and was likely to remain there.

“I mean to go sometime!” he said resolutely.

“You’d better start right off after dinner!” said Rodney in a sneering tone.

CHAPTER III. A TERRIBLE RESPONSIBILITY.

“Grant, you may go over to the other farm and ask Luke Weldon for the pitchfork he borrowed of me last week. There’s no knowing how long he would keep it if I didn’t send for it.”

“All right, sir.”

“Rodney can walk with you if he wants to.”

“Thank you,” said Rodney, shrugging his shoulders, “but I don’t care to walk a mile and a half for a pitchfork. I’ll go part way, though, to the village.”

The two boys started out together. Rodney looked askance at his companion’s poor clothes.

“You’re foolish not to take the suit I offered you,” he said. “Its a good deal better than yours.”

“I presume it is.”

“Then why don’t you want it?”

“Because it will prevent your grandfather buying me a new one.”

“Have you asked him?”

“Yes, I asked him this morning.”

“What did he say?”

“That he would buy a new one for himself, and have his best suit cut down for me.”

Rodney laughed.

“You’d look like a fright,” he said.

“I think so myself,” assented Grant with a smile.

“You’d better take mine than his. Grandfather isn’t much like a dude in dress.”

“No; he tells me that I dress as well as he.”

“So you do, nearly. However, it does not make much difference how an old man like him dresses.”

Rodney rather approved of his grandfather’s scanty outlay on dress, for it would enable him to leave more money to his mother and himself.

“Do you know how old grandfather is?” asked Rodney.

“I believe he is sixty-nine.”

“That’s pretty old. He won’t live many years longer probably. Then the property will come to mother and me.”

“Shall you come to live on the farm?”

“Not much. Mother says she’ll sell both farms, and then we may go to Chicago to live.”

Grant did not like Mr. Tarbox, but he was rather disgusted to hear his grandson speculate so coolly about his death.

“Don’t you think grandfather is failing?” continued Rodney.

“I don’t know that he is,” answered Grant coldly.

“Mother thinks he’s got kidney disease. Old men are very apt to have that trouble.”

“I never heard him complain of being sick.”

By this time the two boys had reached the village.

“I think I’ll drop into the drug store,” said Rodney. “They keep cigarettes there, don’t they?”

“I believe so.”

“Mother don’t like me to smoke, but I do it on the sly. I’ll give you a cigarette, if you want one,” he said, in an unusual fit of generosity.

“Thank you, but I don’t smoke.”

“It’s just as well, for you are poor and couldn’t afford to buy cigarettes. Well, I suppose you’ve got to go on.”

“Yes.”

So the two boys parted. Rodney entered the drug store, and not only bought a package of cigarettes, but drank a glass of soda water. It did not occur to him to offer Grant soda water, for that would have cost a nickel, while a cigarette was inexpensive.

“Somehow I don’t like Rodney,” said Grant to himself as he walked along. “He seems anxious to have his grandfather die in order to get hold of the property. I wouldn’t want to feel that way about anybody, though money would be very acceptable.”

Grant walked a mile farther till he reached the farm. Luke Weldon, who had taken it on shares, was in the yard.

“Well, Grant, have you come to see me?” he asked with a good-natured smile.

“Yes, Mr. Weldon. Mr. Tarbox wants his pitchfork, which you borrowed last week.”

“Was the old man afraid he wouldn’t get it back?”

“Perhaps so.”

“He doesn’t mean to let anybody get the advantage of him. Well, come to the barn with me, and I’ll give it to you.”

Grant followed Luke to the barn, and received the borrowed article.

“It beats all how suspicious Seth Tarbox is,” continued Luke. “You know I run this farm on shares. The old man is dreadfully afraid I shall cheat him in the division of the crop. He comes over spying round from time to time. How do you like working for him?”

“Not at all,” answered Grant bluntly.

“Does he pay you any wages?”

“I work for my board and clothes, but I don’t get any clothes. Look at me.”

“The old man is awful close. I sometimes ask myself how it is all to end. He stints himself and his family, and all his money will go to his daughter Sophia and her boy.”

“They are over there to-day.”

“How do you like the boy?”

“About as much as his grandfather.”

“He’s a disagreeable young cub, and about as mean as the old man.”

“He offered me a cigarette this morning,” said Grant smiling.

“Did you accept?”

“No, I do not smoke. He offered me one of his old suits, too, but it was only to save his grandfather the expense of buying me a new one.”

“I suppose you accepted that.”

“No, I didn’t. I will have a new suit or none at all.”

“I like your spirit. I wish I could have you to work for me.”

“I would rather work for you than for Mr. Tarbox, but there is one thing I would like better still.”

“What is that?”

“To go to California.”

“What put that into your head?”

“Mrs. Bartlett was mentioning that John Heywood had just got back, bringing ten thousand dollars in gold.”

“Sho! You don’t say so.”

“And he bought a farm and is going to put up a new house.”

“Some men are lucky, that’s a fact. Ten thousand dollars, and he’s only just turned thirty. Well, I wish I were in his shoes.”

“I mean to go to California some time.”

“But how will you go? It costs money to go so far.”

“That’s true, and I don’t know where the money is coming from, but I mean to get there all the same.”

“If you had the money Seth Tarbox wouldn’t let you use it for that.”

“I’d like to see him stop me!” said Grant, nodding his head with emphasis.

“Well, I wish you luck, Grant, but I reckon it’ll be a good many years before you get to California.”

Privately Grant was of the same opinion, but the idea had entered his mind, and was not likely to be dislodged.

There were two ways of going home, one through the village, the same way he came, and the other across the railroad and over the fields. This was no shorter, but there was a variety in it, and Grant decided that he should take it.

A hundred feet from the place where he crossed the railroad there was a bridge spanning the creek, not wide, but lying some twenty feet below. The bridge was about fifty feet long.

As Grant gave a careless glance at the structure, which he was not intending to cross, he saw something that startled him. The supports of the further end of the bridge had given way, and it hung, partially fallen, supported only from the other end. It was clear that no train could pass over it in its present condition without being precipitated into the creek below.

“Good Heavens,” thought Grant, “there’ll be an accident! I wonder what could have weakened the bridge.”

It was useless speculating about this point. The danger was imminent, for in less than ten minutes a train was due.

Grant thought of going to the village and giving the alarm, but there was no time. Before he could return the train would have arrived, if on time, and the accident would have happened.

“What shall I do?” Grant asked himself in excitement. “The engineer will have no warning, and the train will push on at its usual speed.”

A vision of the wrecking of the train and the death of innocent and unsuspecting passengers rose before Grant’s mind, and he felt that the catastrophe must be averted if possible. If only someone would come along with whom to consult. But he was alone, and on his young shoulders rested a terrible responsibility.

What could he do?

CHAPTER IV. GRANT SAVES THE TRAIN.

“I must signal to the engineer in some way,” thought Grant. “How shall I do it?”

He felt in his pocket and found that he had a white handkerchief of large size. He wore a soft felt hat. This he took off, spread the handkerchief over it, and then lifted it in the air on the tines of the pitchfork. Then he sought a place where he might attract the attention of the engineer.

About two hundred feet from the bridge there was a small eminence on one side of the railroad. It was just in front of a curve, and this seemed to Grant the best place to station himself. He posted himself there, raised the pitchfork, and waited anxiously for the train.

By and by he heard the cars approaching. His heart was in his mouth.

“Will they see me?” he asked himself. “If not——” but he could not bear to think of the alternative.

As the train drew nearer and nearer he began to wave the hat vigorously, shouting at the same time, though he knew that his voice would be drowned by the thunderous noise of the train.

Nearer and nearer came the train. Would it stop?

All at once his heart was filled with joy, for the train began to slow up, and stopped just a little beyond where he was standing.

Grant ran forward till he was abreast with the engine.

“What’s the matter, boy?” demanded the engineer, half inclined to be angry. “If you are playing a trick on me, I’ll give you a good horse-whipping.”

“It’s no trick,” answered Grant earnestly. “The bridge just ahead is broken down.”

“Good Heavens! Is this true?”

“Get out and see for yourself.”

The engineer lost no time in following Giant’s advice. He and his young guide walked forward, and he saw that Grant’s information was correct.

“It’s a narrow escape,” he said slowly. “The train would have been wrecked, and by this time in all probability I should have been a dead man.”

By this time a number of passengers, curious to know what had happened, and why the train had stopped so suddenly, got off the cars and advanced to where the engineer stood with Grant at his side.

“What’s the matter,” asked the first man.

“You can see for yourself,” answered the engineer, pointing to the bridge.

“Good Heavens!”

“You’ve been as near death as you probably ever will be without meeting it.”

“And what saved us?”

“This boy,” said the engineer, pointing to Grant. “But for him, some of us would be dead men at this moment.”

Grant blushed, for all eyes were fixed on him.

“It was lucky I was here and discovered the broken bridge,” he said.

“Gentlemen,” said a portly, gray-haired man, a clergyman, “this boy has under Providence been the means of saving our lives. He deserves a reward.”

“So he does! So he does!” exclaimed a dozen men heartily.

“Let me set the example,” and the minister took off his hat and deposited therein a five dollar bill. “I am not a rich man—ministers seldom are—but what I give, I give with all my heart.”

“Here is another!” said the engineer. “I am perhaps under deeper obligations than any one.”

“Let me contribute!” said a sweet-faced old lady, and she dropped another five-dollar bill into the minister’s hat.

Then the passengers generally brought forward their contributions, though some were able to give but a silver coin. There was one notable exception: One man, when he saw what was going forward, quietly shrunk away, and got back into the train.

“Who’s that man,” asked the engineer sharply.

“I know,” said an Irishman, who out of his poverty had given a dollar. “It’s Mr. Leonard Buckley, of New York. He’s worth a million. He is rich enough to buy us all up.”

“No matter how much money he possesses, he is a poor man,” said the minister significantly.

“He’s given all his life is worth to the world,” said a passenger cynically. “When he dies he won’t be missed.”

“And now, my young friend,” said the clergyman to Grant, “let me make over to you this collection of money as a small acknowledgement from the passengers of this train of the great service you have rendered us.”

While the collection was being taken up, Grant stood as if dazed. All had passed so suddenly that he could not realize what it meant. Now he found a voice to speak.

“I don’t think I ought to take it,” he said. “I didn’t do it for money.”

“Of course you didn’t!” said the clergyman. “If you had, your act would have been far less commendable, though it might have been as effective. I think you need not hesitate to take the money.”

“Take it, take it!” said more than one.

So Grant took the hat, and held it awkwardly for a moment, hardly knowing what to do with the contents till someone suggested, “Put it in your own hat!”

Grant did so, and then the engineer went forward to examine the bridge more carefully, and decide what had better be done.

There was no further reason for Grant to remain, and he walked a little distance away and began to count his money. There were one hundred and forty dollars in bills, and about twelve dollars in silver.

“One hundred and fifty-two dollars!” said Grant, elated. “Now,” and his face brightened up, “now I can go to California!”

But what should he do with the money? He felt that it would not be prudent to carry it home, for his step-father would be sure to claim it. He might hide it somewhere, but there was danger that it would be discovered, and lost. Finally, he decided to carry it to Luke Weldon, and ask him to keep it for him for the present. Luke was a poor man, but he was thoroughly honest. There was no one in town who would not sooner have trusted him than Seth Tarbox, though Seth had twenty dollars to his one.

When Grant entered the farm-yard again, Luke looked up with surprise.

“What brings you back, Grant?” he asked.

“I want to ask a favor of you, Mr. Weldon.”

“I am always ready to do you a favor, Grant.”

“Will you keep some money for me?”

Luke Weldon was surprised. He knew pretty well how Grant was situated, and that money must be a scarce article with him. Perhaps, however, he had a little extra change which he was afraid of losing, he reflected.

“All right, Grant!” was his reply. “I’ll keep it for you. How much is it?”

When Grant began to draw the bills out of his pocket, Luke’s eyes opened with amazement.

“Where did you get all this money, Grant?” he asked. “You haven’t been—no, I can’t believe it possible you’ve been robbing the old man.”

“I should think not,” returned Grant indignantly. “I haven’t sunk so low as that.”

“But where did you get it? Why didn’t you ask me to take charge of it when you were here before?”

“Because I didn’t have it.”

“Have you got it since?”

“Yes.”

“Then you found it somewhere. It must belong to someone who hid it.”

“No, it doesn’t. It was given to me.”

“I want to believe you, Grant, and I never knew you to tell a lie, but it aint easy, boy, it aint easy. If you don’t tell me where and how you got it, I can’t agree to keep it for you. It might be stolen money for aught I know.”

“Then I’ll tell you, Luke. When I crossed the railroad I found the bridge was broken. I signalled the train just in time to stop it’s going across.”

“Sho! You