CHAPTER X
MR. SILVERTHORN’S TREACHERY
The little party generally lay down to sleep soon after eight. The days were always fatiguing, and they were in the habit of rising early.
The weather was warm, for it was toward the end of June, and they did not even raise the tent, but lay down on the ground with a blanket underneath and above them. Mrs. Cooper generally slept in the wagon.
“We have an extra pair of blankets, Mr. Silverthorn,” said Mrs. Cooper. “We cannot offer you a bed; you will fare as well as my husband and the boys.”
“How kind you are!” murmured Dionysius. “To me this simple provision will be a luxury. For a week I have slept on the bare ground without a blanket.”
“You need not go to bed as early as the rest of us, unless you like.”
“My dear lady, if you don’t object, I will retire into the woods for an hour and indulge in religious meditation. I wish to express my thanks to Providence for my happy encounter with your kind party.”
“There is no objection, I am sure, Mr. Silverthorn,” said Mrs. Cooper. “What a good man he is!” she said to herself.
“That man makes me sick,” remarked Tom, aside to Grant.
“I think he is a humbug,” whispered Grant.
“I am sure he is.”
The little party stretched themselves on the ground, and Dionysius Silverthorn walked pensively into the woods.
When he returned, Mr. and Mrs. Cooper and Tom were asleep.
The pair of blankets assigned to the stranger lay ready for use. He did not immediately lie down, but thoughtfully surveyed the sleepers.
“They seem fast asleep, but perhaps it will be better to wait awhile,” he murmured thoughtfully to himself. “It will not do for me to get caught. That young man, Tom, is very muscular, and the old man is strong in spite of his years. I will lie down awhile.”
It was well for him that he decided thus, for Grant awoke – a thing unusual for him – and, looking around, saw their visitor.
“Haven’t you gone to bed yet, Mr. Silverthorn?” he asked.
“No, my young friend; I have been into the woods, engaged in meditation and thanksgiving, but now I feel weary and I think I shall soon be lulled to rest. Do you often wake during the night?”
“No; it is unusual for me to wake at all.”
“That is well. Boys like you should sleep soundly. I would I were a boy again! Good-night, my dear young friend.”
“Good-night!”
Grant was soon asleep. An hour later Mr. Silverthorn, who had been lying quietly, lifted his head gently, and throwing off his blanket, rose to his feet.
He walked up to where Grant lay asleep.
“I wonder whether the boy has any money in his pocket?” he thought.
He went up softly to where Grant lay, and, kneeling down, quietly detached the blanket, so that Grant would be uncovered. Then he inserted his hand into his pocket, and drew out some silver change, about two dollars in all.
He looked at it with disappointment.
“Is that all he has?” he muttered. “It won’t pay me for my trouble.”
He was about to search his other pocket, but Grant stirred in his sleep, and, fearing he would awake, Dionysius rose hastily.
“I would try the others,” he said, “but I don’t dare to. If they should wake, they might murder me, particularly the young man. Now I will lie down again, and get up about four o’clock. I must have a little rest.”
Dionysius Silverthorn was one of those men who can rouse themselves at any hour they fix upon. It didn’t vary much from four o’clock in the morning when he rose and rubbed his eyes. It was already growing light in the east, and there was promise of a fine day.
“I feel quite refreshed,” he said, stretching himself. “It is time I took my departure. Is there nothing else I can take?”
Some remains of the supper of the previous night had been left near the wagon, including a box of crackers.
“I will pocket a few crackers,” said Dionysius, “and keep them for lunch. I will take the liberty of breakfasting before I go. Shall I take the blankets?” he said thoughtfully. “No, they would be in my way. I wish I had a little more money – but it would be dangerous to seek for it. I will, however, take the liberty of borrowing the horse, as he will materially assist me in my journey.”
The horse had been tied to a tree. Mr. Silverthorn gently unfastened the rope and led him away. He was nervously anxious lest he should whinny or make some noise that would arouse the little party. But the horse seemed unusually docile, and, though he was probably sorry to be roused from sleep quite so early, allowed himself to be led away without any manifestation of discontent.
An hour later Tom Cooper stretched himself and opened his eyes.
“Another fine day!” he said to himself. “Well, we must make the most of it. It is high time we began to make preparations to start. Hello, Grant!” he said, shaking the boy till he murmured drowsily, “What is it, Tom?”
“Time to get up, Grant, my boy. We must be on our way by six.”
Grant jumped up, and, throwing off the blankets, began to fold them up.
“Where’s Mr. Silverthorn?” he asked, turning his eyes in the direction of the stranger’s bed.
“There’s his blankets!” said Tom. “Perhaps he has gone to the woods to meditate,” he added, with a laugh. “I shan’t be sorry, for one, if he doesn’t come back.”
“Nor I,” assented Grant.
“It’s my belief that he’s a rascal!”
“Whether he is or not, I don’t like him.”
“You forget, Grant, that you are the image of his lost boy,” said Tom, with a laugh.
“I hope not. I shouldn’t like to look like any one belonging to him. Do you believe his story about the Indians attacking his party?”
“It may be true, though I think the man is capable of lying. Well, I must wake up father.”
The blacksmith was soon roused.
“A fine day!” he said cheerily. “We are in luck. Where is the horse?” he asked abruptly, the next instant.
Startled by the question, Tom and Grant turned their eyes in the direction of the tree to which old Dobbin had been tethered.
“Sure enough, where is he?” ejaculated Tom.
“Wasn’t he securely tied?”
“Yes,” answered Grant. “I tied him myself. He couldn’t have got away without hands.”
“I tell you what, Grant,” said Tom Cooper suddenly, “that scoundrel’s stolen him!”
“What scoundrel? Whom do you mean?” demanded the father.
“That tramp – Silverthorn.”
“Why, he’s gone, too!”
“Yes, and has stolen Dobbin to help him on his way. I’d like to get hold of the rascal!” And stern resolution glittered in the eyes of the young man.
“But I don’t understand it.”
“It’s easy enough to understand. The man’s a humbug. All his story was made up to impose upon us.”
“Then you don’t believe his party was attacked by Indians?”
“No, I don’t; but if I catch him he’ll think he has been attacked by Indians.”
“It will be a serious loss to us, Tom,” said the blacksmith, with a troubled face.
“We’ll get him back if we can, father. I wonder if the fellow has stolen anything else.”
Grant thrust his hand into his pocket and made a discovery.
“I’ve lost about two dollars in silver,” he said.
“It may have slipped out of your pocket during the night.”
Grant examined the ground on which he had been lying, and shook the blankets; but not one of the missing silver coins was found.
“No,” he said. “The silver must have been taken from my pocket. No; I had some bills in my right-hand pocket. I was lying on my right side, so he could not get at it without the risk of waking me up. Have you lost anything, Tom?”
Tom had been examining his pockets.
“No,” he said grimly. “The fellow didn’t dare to tackle me, I reckon. If I had caught him at it I would have strangled him. Father, how is it with you?”
“I am all right, Tom.”
“Then he didn’t get much outside of the horse. But that’s a serious enough loss. Poor Dobbin!”
“If I only knew which way he went,” said Tom slowly.
But this was not clear. There was nothing to do but to get ready for the day’s march, and set out. The loss of Dobbin made it necessary that all should walk except Mrs. Cooper, who sat in the wagon.
They had been about three hours on the way when a tramping sound was heard, and Dobbin came running up to the party, whinnying with joy.
“There’s nothing amiss with him,” said Tom joyfully. “I wonder how he got away from the man that stole him. Are you glad to get back, old fellow?”
There could be no doubt on that point, for the horse seemed content and happy.
“Where’s old Silverthorn, I wonder?” said Tom.
The question was soon to be answered.
CHAPTER XI
AN INDIAN ENCOUNTER
The country through which the Cooper party were now travelling was partially wooded. Soon, however, they would reach the long and barren stretch of country – the great salt plain – which was the dread of all overland parties. Then there would be no woods till they approached the borders of the Golden State.
About the middle of the afternoon, while the oxen were plodding along at the rate of barely two miles an hour, they received a surprise.
Tom Cooper, whose eyes were the sharpest, called out suddenly:
“Look there!”
Grant looked, but had to approach nearer before he could realize the situation. Then he saw a white man tied to a slender tree, while half a dozen Indians were dancing round him, uttering a series of guttural cries, which appeared to fill the captive with intense dread. It was too far to distinguish the features of the prisoner, but when they came nearer Tom cried out, “Dang me, if it aint Silverthorn!”
It was indeed Dionysius Silverthorn, and his plight was certainly a serious one.
“What shall we do?” asked Grant.
“We must rescue him,” answered Tom. “He’s a mean rascal, and he’s repaid our hospitality by robbing us; but we can’t let him be killed by those redskins.”
“I’m with you!” said Grant.
By this time the Indians had caught sight of the approaching party. They ceased dancing and appeared to be conferring together. When Silverthorn saw that some of his own color were at hand he uttered a loud cry, and would have stretched out his hands if they had not been fettered.
“Help me! help me!” he cried. “Save me from these fiends!”
The Indians – six in number – seeing that there were but three in the approaching party, took courage and decided to maintain their ground. They uttered, a yell and fired a volley of arrows, one of which whizzed by Grant’s ear.
Tom Cooper gritted his teeth.
“We’ll teach them a lesson,” he said.
He raised his rifle, and, aiming at the foremost Indian, fired deliberately. The redskin fell, pierced to the heart.
This appeared to strike his companions with dismay. They seemed panic-stricken, as well they might be, for the bows and arrows with which they were armed were no match for the rifles of the little party opposed to them. One of them raised his arm and uttered a few words; these were of course unintelligible to Grant and his companions, but their sense became apparent when he pointed to the dead Indian, and, with one of his companions, lifted him from the ground and began to beat a retreat.
“They won’t trouble us any more, Grant,” said Tom. “They are going away. But we had better keep on the watch, for they are a crafty race, and may meditate some treachery.”
When they were beyond bowshot, Tom led the way to the spot where Mr. Silverthorn was eagerly awaiting deliverance from his uncomfortable position.
“Well,” said Tom, taking a position where he had a good view of the captive, “what have you got to say for yourself?”
“Oh, please release me, Mr. Tom!” said Dionysius, in a pleading tone.
“Why should I? What claim have you on me?”
“The claim of humanity. You’ve no idea what I have suffered in the last hour.”
“First, I want you to explain why you stole my horse.”
“You’ve got him back,” said Silverthorn, who could see old Dobbin browsing beside the wagon.
“Yes; but no thanks to you.”
“Indeed, I only meant to borrow him for a while.”
“And you borrowed Grant’s money in the same way, I suppose.”
“Put yourself in my place, Mr. Tom. I was penniless and destitute. How could I make my way alone through this wilderness?”
“So you robbed your benefactors! I take no stock in your story that you only meant to borrow the horse. Now own up, make a clean breast of it, and it will be the better for you.”
“I meant some time to pay you for him; indeed I did. I knew that if I got to the mines I would soon be in a position to pay all my debts, and I should have regarded that as a debt of honor.”
“The less you say about honor the better, it strikes me, Mr. Silverthorn.”
“Please release me! I have been in this unhappy confinement for more than an hour.”
Tom approached the tree and, drawing out a formidable looking jack-knife, sundered the cords that bound the captive, and he stepped forth, stretching himself with a sigh of relief.
“Permit me to express my thanks, my friend and benefactor!” he cried, sinking on his knees and grasping Tom’s hand, which he pressed to his lips.
Tom pulled it away with a look of disgust.
“I have no confidence in you,” he said. “I know how you treat your friends and benefactors.”
“I have indeed done wrong,” said Dionysius. “I am a weak, fallible man, but I never will wrong you again.”
“I don’t think you will, for I shall not give you a chance. Now tell me the truth about the horse. How did he escape from you?”
“I got off his back a moment, and he immediately turned and galloped away.”
“You pursued him, of course?”
“A little way,” answered Mr. Silverthorn, coughing apologetically; “but I soon gave it up. I said to myself, ‘He will seek his owner, and I shall be saved from committing a sin.’“
Tom Cooper laughed.
“You were resigned because you had to be,” he said. “Now, about Grant’s money! Have you got it?”
“No; the Indians robbed me of it.”
“When did you meet the Indians?”
“It may have been two hours ago. I have no watch, and can only estimate the time.”
“Did they attack you?”
“They ran up and seized me. I stood still, for I knew that if I ran they would pierce me with an arrow.”
“Well?”
“When they caught me they searched my pockets and took the silver. Then I was glad that I had taken no more.”
“That is, you would rather Grant would keep his money than have the Indians get it.”
“Yes, Mr. Tom,” answered Silverthorn meekly. “It went to my heart to rob the boy, for he looked so much like my lost son. Forgive these tears!” and he drew out the red silk handkerchief, which the Indians had evidently not thought it worth while to take, and wiped his eyes.
“That man disgusts me, Grant,” said Tom. “He seems to have quite an affection for you.”
“It is all on his side,” returned Grant. “I don’t believe he ever had a boy.”
“Well, perhaps not. He seems a natural born liar. But it’s time we were pushing on. We have a long distance still before us.”
The wagon was put in motion, and the little procession started. Mr. Cooper drove the oxen, Mrs. Cooper sat inside the wagon, Tom led the horse, and Grant walked alongside. Sometimes Tom took his turn in driving the oxen, and sometimes Grant led the horse.
Dionysius Silverthorn started also, walking beside Grant.
Tom turned upon him.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I will walk along with you, if you will let me, Mr. Tom.”
“I think you’ve got more cheek than any man I know. After the trick you played upon us, you expect us to tolerate your presence.”
“Please let me accompany you, Mr. Tom. I might meet the Indians again.”
“Then go in a different direction. You cannot go with us.”
Mr. Silverthorn produced his red handkerchief, and rubbed his eyes again.
“It is a hard, cold world!” he said. “I am a very unfortunate man.”
“Perhaps you are; but I don’t think you deserve to be very fortunate. Just make up your mind that you are not going to travel with us. Had you behaved honorably, and not repaid kindness by theft, we would have allowed you to remain with us for a time; but now it is impossible.”
“I shall starve, and be found a wretched corpse by the wayside,” moaned Dionysius.
“Let him have some provisions, Tom,” said Mrs. Cooper, who was naturally compassionate. She had given up the idea that he was a truly good man, but she was not willing that he should be left quite unprovided for.
“I will do that,” said Tom.
He made up a small parcel of provisions, and handed them to Dionysius Silverthorn, who sat down on a stump, while the little caravan pushed on.
“That’s the strangest sort of man I ever encountered,” said Tom. “I wonder whether we’ll ever see him again.”
CHAPTER XII
IN DIRE DISTRESS
Some days later the party reached the great salt plains dreaded by all overland travellers. The sight of the vast, white prairies, utterly destitute of vegetation, with no plant or shrub visible, and no evidence that any had ever existed, was depressing enough.
“If we should get out of provisions or water here, Heaven help us!” said Tom apprehensively.
“How far will we have to go before we reach the borders of the plain?” asked Grant.
“I don’t know, but I have heard that it is very extensive.”
“How are we off for provisions?”
“That is what makes me anxious. Our supply is quite scanty.”
“And there is no chance to replenish it here?”
Tom shook his head.
“Don’t tell mother,” he said. “It would make her worry. It will be time for her to learn it if worse comes to worst.”
On the sixth day they were startled by a sight calculated to increase their fears.
It was a stranded wagon, with three gaunt, emaciated bodies stretched near it, all of them quite dead. There were two men and a woman.
“They must have died of hunger, or thirst, or both,” whispered Tom.
“What can have happened to them?” asked Mrs. Cooper compassionately.
“Perhaps they were weak, and unable to go farther,” said Tom evasively.
“It seems terrible that they should be exposed to the elements. Suppose some wild beasts should come and mangle their bodies.”
“Wild beasts are too sensible to be found in this region,” said Tom.
“Why?” asked his mother.
“Because,” answered Tom, hesitating, “the country is so barren and unattractive.”
“You seem to think wild animals appreciate fine scenery, like human beings.”
“Well, yes, in a measure,” and Tom nodded significantly at Grant, as if to caution him against saying anything that would reveal to his mother his real meaning.
“Tom,” said his father, “don’t you think we had better bury these unfortunate persons?”
“Yes, father. I will help you do it.”
“And I,” added Grant.
“First, however, let us see if we can find any letters or documents disclosing their identity. We ought to let their friends know what has become of them.”
In the pocket of one of the men Tom found letters showing that it was a party from Taunton, in Massachusetts. One of the men had a silver watch, and upon another was found a small sum of money.
“I will take charge of the watch and money,” said Mr. Cooper, “and when we reach any point where it is possible, I will send them on to their friends in Taunton, for that appears to have been their home.”
“What about the wagon, father?”
“We must leave it. We have all we can do in transporting our own.”
A grave was dug, and the three bodies were deposited therein. Tom looked sober, for he couldn’t help asking himself, “Suppose this should be our fate!”
He quietly examined the wagon to see if he could find any provisions, but there was not a scrap, or crust to be found.
“It was as I thought,” he whispered to Grant. “The poor wretches died of starvation.”
A week later the same problem confronted them.
“Grant,” said Tom, “I have been examining our food supply, and find that we have only enough to last us two days.”
Grant looked startled.
“And then?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Unless we get a fresh supply we must die, like those poor people whom we buried a week since.”
“Shall you tell your mother?”
“I must. She is entitled to know, for she is in danger like ourselves.”
Mrs. Cooper turned pale, but seemed calm and composed when told of the state of affairs.
“We must make our provisions last as long as possible,” she said.
“But how?”
“We must be placed on allowance.”
“Half rations?”
“Yes. That will give us some additional time. We must make our two days’ supply last over four days, and who knows what may happen in four days?”
“That is a sensible suggestion, mother, but let it only extend to Grant, father and myself. I don’t want you to be stinted.”
“What do you think of me, Tom? Do you suppose I would consent to fare better than my husband and son, and this boy, who seems like one of us? No, Tom, you should judge your mother better.”
“You have shut me up, mother. I can’t say anything in answer to that.”
“I will show you that a woman has as much fortitude as a man. Besides, I do not have to work as hard as you. I can bear the deprivation better.”
The days following were days of intense anxiety. Every morning, when they set out on their daily march, there was a prayer in the heart of each that something would happen before the sun set that would relieve them from the haunting fear of famine.
But in all these days they met no one, and overtook no one. The sun rose hot and fiery, making the great alkali plain seem still more arid and cheerless. So far as they could see, they were the only people in the world; for, look as they might, they could see no other evidence of human habitation. But in the distance it was a relief to perceive some low rising hills, and by night time they reached an oasis, and, what cheered their hearts, a small stream of water, for they were very nearly out, and had felt the need of economizing. Now the oxen, and the horse, as well as themselves, were allowed to drink ad libitum. The animals drank with evident gratification, and looked sensibly cheered and relieved.
“Now, if we could only find some food, I should be perfectly happy,” said Grant.
Only a few crackers were left, but these, dipped in the water, became palatable. But the serious question arose: “What would they do when these were gone?” It was a question that none of them could answer.
“I have often wondered, Grant,” said Tom, “what it was like to want food. I begin to understand it now. I remember one day a poor tramp came to our door, who said he had not tasted food for forty-eight hours. I looked at him with curiosity. I could not understand how this could happen to any one. All my life I had never known what it was to want food. I even doubted his word; but when mother invited him into the kitchen and set a plate of meat and bread before the poor fellow, the eagerness with which the famished wretch ate satisfied me that he had told the truth. Now, Grant, I will make a confession.”
“What is it, Tom? Have you murdered any one?” asked Grant, with forced hilarity.
“Not that I remember. My confession is of a different nature. For four days – during the whole time that I have been on half rations – I have felt a perpetual craving for food.”
“And I too, Tom.”
“And now I feel weak and exhausted. It has been an effort to drag myself along to-day. The fact is, machinery can’t be kept in working trim without fuel.”
“I realize that, too, Tom.”
“I presume father and mother have felt the same way, but I haven’t dared to ask them. They say ‘misery loves company,’ but when the companions in misery are your own father and mother, it doesn’t apply. Though I have to suffer myself, I wish they were spared the same privations that have undermined my strength.”
It will be seen that Tom was better educated than the majority of young men born and brought up in the country. He had attended an academy in a neighboring town for a year, and had for a season taught the district school at Crestville. Grant found him pleasant and instructive company.
That night, when they went to bed, they were utterly without food. What were to be their experiences on the morrow they could not foresee, but there was plenty of room for grave apprehension.
“Grant, if we can get no food, I have decided what we must do,” said Tom, as they lay down to rest at a short distance from each other.
“What is it, Tom? Have you thought of anything?”
“Yes; I suppose you know that horseflesh, though not to be compared with beef, is still palatable?”
“Yes.”
“It is our last resource. Poor old Dobbin must die!” and the young man sighed.
At that moment the old horse whinnied.
“It seems as if he knew what we were talking about,” said Tom.
“That will last us some time,” remarked Grant, with renewed hope.
“Yes; I suppose the poor old fellow won’t be very tender, but it is the only way he can serve us now. We can cook up quite a supply while the meat is fresh, and take it with us. It will give us a new lease of life, and something may happen before that supply is exhausted.”
Tom consulted his father and mother, who, though at first startled, decided that it was the only thing to be done.
And so poor Dobbin’s fate seemed to be sealed!