The traveler of to-day who is whirled across the continent in six days and a half has little conception of what the overland journey was in the year 1850. Week after week and month after month slipped away between the start and the arrival on the western slope of the Sierra Nevadas. Delicate women and children of tender years developed extraordinary endurance, and showed remarkable fortitude on the wearisome trip. But the hope of bettering their fortunes was the magnet that drew them steadily on, day after day, in their march across the plains.

Tom was at an age when adventure has a charm. His feet were often weary; but he never tired of the journey. Every morning found him active, alert, and ready for the toilsome walk. He was, indeed, impatient for the time to come when he could be earning something to pay up his debt to Squire Hudson, and so relieve his father from the additional burden assumed for his sake. Otherwise he was quite content to plod on, seeing something new every day.

"You're always cheerful, Tom, my lad," said Ferguson, one day.

"Yes," said Tom. "I am having a good time."

"Youth is aye the time for enjoyment. When I was a lad like you I might have been the same."

"Don't you enjoy the journey, Mr. Ferguson?" asked Tom.

"I'm getting tired of it, Tom. I look upon it as a means to an end. I'm in a hurry to reach the mines."

"So am I, Mr. Ferguson, for that matter."

"And I can't help thinking, what if they don't turn out as well as we expect? Then there'll be months lost, besides a good bit of money," replied Ferguson.

"Oh, I'm sure there is plenty of gold, and we shall get our share," said Tom confidently; "that is, if we have our health."

"I hope it'll be as you say, my lad. Indeed, I think you are right. You have taught me a lesson."

"Have I, Mr. Ferguson? What is it?"

"Always to look on the bright side. It is a lesson worth learning. It makes a man feel happier, and often gives courage to press on to the accomplishment of his purpose."

"I suppose it is natural to me," said Tom.

"It is a happy gift. It is a pity that poor creature from Boston hadn't it."

Lawrence Peabody was approaching, and this no doubt led to the allusion. He was limping along, looking decidedly down in the mouth, which, indeed, was not unusual.

"What is the matter with you, Mr. Peabody?" asked Tom.

"I'm almost gone," groaned Peabody. "My strength is exhausted, and, besides, I've got a terrible corn on my left foot."

"How long has that been?"

"For two or three days. It's torture for me to walk. I don't know but you'll have to leave me here on the prairie to perish."

"Not so bad as that, Mr. Peabody, I hope. Perhaps Mr. Chapman will lend you his donkey to ride upon."

The owner of the donkey was within hearing distance, and at once expressed a willingness to lend his animal to Mr. Peabody.

"That will be better than perishing on the prairies," said Tom cheerfully.

"I am not much used to riding," said Peabody cautiously.

"He won't run away with you, Peabody," said the owner. "He's too lazy."

Lawrence Peabody was already aware of this fact, and it gave him courage to accept the offered help. He mounted Solomon – as the donkey was called, for some unknown reason – and for a time enjoyed the relief from the toil of walking. He became quite cheerful, and was disposed to congratulate himself upon his success, when an unfortunate fit of obstinacy came over Solomon. It dawned upon the sagacious animal that it would be much easier to travel without a load, and, turning his head, he looked thoughtfully at his rider.

"Get up, Solomon!" exclaimed Peabody, striking the animal on the haunch.

Solomon felt that this was taking a personal liberty and he stood stock-still, his face expressive of obstinacy.

"Why don't he go on?" asked Peabody, perplexed.

"He's stopping to rest," said Tom. "I am afraid he is lazy."

"Go along!" exclaimed Peabody, again using his whip. But the animal did not budge.

"This is really very provoking," murmured the rider. "What shall I do?"

"Don't give up to him," advised one of the company. "Here, let me whip him."

"Thank you; I wish you would."

It was an unlucky speech. The other complied with the request, and delivered his blow with such emphasis that Solomon's equanimity was seriously disturbed. He dashed forward with what speed he could command, Mr. Peabody holding on, in a sort of panic, till he was a hundred yards away. Then he stopped suddenly, lowering his head, and his hapless rider was thrown over it, landing some distance in advance. Solomon looked at him with grim humor, if a donkey is capable of such a feeling, and, apparently satisfied, turned and walked complacently back to the wagon-train.

Several of the company, witnessing the accident, hurried forward to Mr. Peabody's assistance. They picked him up, groaning and bewildered, but not much hurt.

"None of your limbs broken," said Miles. "I guess you'll do."

"I'm badly shaken up," moaned Peabody.

"It will do you good," said Miles bluntly.

"You had better try it yourself, then," retorted Peabody, with unwonted spirit.

"Good for you!" laughed Miles. "I suspect you are not dead yet."

"What made you put me on such a vicious beast?" asked Peabody of the owner.

"Solomon isn't vicious; he's only lazy," said Chapman. "We can't blame him much."

"I think he ought to be shot," said Peabody, painfully rising, and stretching out one limb after another to make sure that none was broken.

"You seem to be unlucky, Mr. Peabody," said Tom.

"I'm always unlucky," moaned Peabody.

"Will you ride again, Mr. Peabody?" asked Chapman. "I'll catch Solomon for you, if you like."

"Not for fifty dollars!" exclaimed Peabody energetically. "It is as much as anybody's life is worth."

"If you will make me the same offer, I won't refuse, Mr. Chapman," said Tom.

"You can mount him, if you like."

Tom waited for no second invitation. He approached Solomon cautiously, vaulted upon his back, and the animal, disagreeably surprised, had recourse to the same tactics which had proved so successful in the case of the young man from Boston. But he had a different kind of a rider to deal with. Tom had been accustomed to ride from the time he was six years of age, and he stuck to his seat in spite of all attempts to dislodge him. So far from feeling alarmed, he enjoyed the struggle.

"It's no go, Solomon!" he said gaily. "You've tackled the wrong customer this time. Better make up your mind to go as I want you to."

Solomon came to the same conclusion after a time. He had tried his ordinary tactics, and they had proved unavailing. The struggle had been witnessed with some interest by the other members of the company.

"You can ride, youngster; that's a fact," said the owner of the donkey. "I didn't say anything, but I rather expected to see you follow Peabody."

"I'm used to riding," said Tom modestly. "Mr. Peabody is not."

"Every lad ought to know how to ride," said Ferguson. "It's a deal manlier than smoking a cigar, to my thinking."

"I can smoke a cigar," said Peabody, desirous probably of appearing to possess one manly accomplishment.

"You will hardly find it as useful as riding in the new country you are going to, Mr. Peabody," said Ferguson dryly.

"I'd give something for a good cigar myself," said John Miles.

"I prefer riding," said Tom. "I never smoked a cigar in my life."

"You are just as well off without it, my lad," said the Scotchman. "It don't do men any good, and always harms boys."

Peabody never again mounted Solomon. One trial was sufficient, and, footsore and lame as he was, he decidedly preferred to walk.

CHAPTER XXVII.
THE LOST HORSE

Day followed day, and every sunset found the party from eighteen to twenty miles nearer the land of gold. They had not yet been molested by Indians, though on more than one occasion they had encountered the remains of those whom the savages had ruthlessly slaughtered. When they witnessed such a spectacle they were moved less by fear than indignation.

"I didn't think I should ever thirst for a fellow creature's blood," said John Miles; "but if I could meet the savages that did this bloody work, I would shoot them down like dogs, and sleep all the more soundly for it. How is it with you, friend Ferguson?"

"I am inclined to agree with you," said the Scotchman. "When an Indian makes himself a beast of prey he should be treated accordingly."

"Are there any Indians in California?" asked Peabody nervously.

"I don't think we shall have any trouble with them there, Mr. Peabody," said Ferguson.

"Then I wish I was there now. It must be terrible to be scalped;" and the young man from Boston shuddered.

"I don't think it would be an agreeable surgical operation," said Fletcher, who had just come up. "Let us hope that we shall not be called upon to undergo it."

The next morning, when breakfast was over, and the party was preparing to start, an unpleasant discovery was made. One of the most valuable horses was missing. He must have slipped his tether during the night, and strayed away; as they were situated, the loss of such an animal would be felt.

"He can't be far away," said Fletcher. "Some of us must go after him."

"Let Peabody mount the mustang, and undertake to find him," suggested John Miles, winking at the captain.

"Mr. Peabody," said Captain Fletcher gravely, "will you undertake to recover the horse? We shall all feel under great obligations to you."

"I – I hope you will excuse me, Captain Fletcher," stammered Peabody, in great alarm. "I know I couldn't find the horse. I shouldn't know where to look."

"This is where he got away. You can see his trail in the grass," said Scott, a young man from Indiana. "All you will have to do will be to follow the trail, Mr. Peabody."

"I'm very near-sighted," pleaded Peabody. "I should lose my way, and never come back."

"Carrying the mustang with you? That would be a loss indeed," said John Miles pointedly. "On the whole, Captain Fletcher, we had better excuse Mr. Peabody."

"Mr. Peabody is excused," said the leader.

"Thank you," said Peabody, looking relieved. "I would go, I am sure, if I could do any good; but I know I couldn't."

"Who will volunteer?" asked Fletcher.

"Let me go," said Tom eagerly.

"You are not afraid of losing your way, Tom?" said Miles.

"No; or if I do, I will find it again."

"That boy is more of a man now than Peabody will ever be," said Miles, in a low voice to Ferguson.

"That he is," said the Scotchman, who was a firm friend of our young hero. "There is the making of a noble man in him."

"I believe you."

"I have no objection to your going, Tom," said Fletcher; "but it is better that you should have company. Who will go with the boy?"

"I," said several, among them John Miles and Henry Scott.

"You may go, Scott," said the leader. "I have work for Miles at camp. The sooner you get started the better."

"All right, captain. Come along, Tom."

The two were in the saddle before two minutes had passed, and, guided by the trail, struck out upon the prairie.

Scott was a tall, broad-shouldered young farmer, not over twenty-five, strong and athletic, and reported, the best runner, wrestler, and vaulter in the party. Tom was very well pleased to have his company.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
INDIAN CASUISTRY

"I should like to know when the horse got away," said Scott, as he and Tom rode on side by side; "then we could calculate how far we should have to go before overtaking him."

"He wouldn't be likely to travel all the time, would he?" asked Tom.

"Probably not. He may have gone only a mile or two. Are your eyes good?"

"Pretty good."

"Look about, then, and see if you can anywhere see anything of the rover."

Scott and Tom, drawing rein, looked searchingly in all directions; but nowhere was the lost animal visible.

"Somebody may have found him," suggested Tom.

"That may be. If so, we have a harder job before us."

The prairie was not quite level, but was what is called a rolling prairie, and this limited the view. Otherwise it would have been easy for a person, whose sight was keen, to have distinguished an object as large as a horse at a distance of many miles.

"Are you sure we are on the right track, Mr. Scott?" asked Tom.

"Yes, I can see by the trail."

"I can see no hoof-marks."

"Not just here; but look closely, and you will see slight marks of disturbance in the grass. As long as these signs last we need have no doubts as to our being on the right track."

"The same trail will lead us back to our party," said Tom.

"Yes, I shouldn't like to part from them in this country. It would be rather a bad place to be lost without provisions."

They had ridden about five miles, when the trail became clearer and better defined. In fact, the marks in the prairie grass appeared more numerous than a single horse would be likely to make.

Scott looked grave.

"We will halt here a moment, Tom," he said. "I want to examine the trail."

"Shall I get off my horse?"

"No; it is not necessary."

Scott dismounted and walked about, closely examining the marks in the grass.

Finally he looked up.

"I begin to think it doubtful whether we shall recover Dan," he said.

"Why?"

"He has been found and carried off," was the reply. "Do you see the double trail?"

"Yes," said Tom, after a brief examination.

"It means that a horseman has found Dan, and led him away. This rather complicates matters."

"What do you think we had better do?" inquired Tom.

"That requires consideration. I could tell better if I knew by whom the horse had been found. The finder may be honest, and would, in that case, surrender it on our appearing, and claiming him. But, again, he may be dishonest, and resist our claims."

"We are two to one," said Tom stoutly.

"We don't know that. The man may belong to a party."

"The members of his party would know that the horse was not his."

"Quite true, if the party was composed of decent persons, like our own; but that is not certain."

"Then will you go back without Dan?" asked Tom.

"I don't want to do that. In fact I should be ashamed to. Captain Fletcher would conclude that he might as well have sent Peabody; and I am not anxious to be classed with him."

"Nor I," said Tom, smiling.

"So the only thing is to push on, and make what discoveries we may."

"All right," said Tom cheerfully.

They rode on for a couple of miles, having no difficulty in following the trail, until they reached the brow of a small eminence. Here they were greeted with a sight that startled them. A group of a dozen Indians were reclining on the grass, with their horses fastened near them. Startled as they were, they detected the animal of which they were in search among the Indian horses.

"We've walked into a trap with our eyes open, Tom," said Scott, halting his horse mechanically. His bronzed face was a little pale, for he knew well the character of the savages before him, the hopelessness of escape, and the terrible fate that probably awaited them.

"Shall we turn and fly, Mr. Scott?" asked Tom hurriedly.

"It would be of no use, Tom. We must stay and face the music."

Upon the appearance of the two friends the Indians had sprung to their feet, and the colloquy was scarcely over before there was an Indian at each bridle-rein. They made signs, easily understood, for Tom and Scott to dismount.

"Stop a minute," said Scott, with creditable coolness, considering the great peril in which he knew himself to be. "Is there any one here who speaks English?"

An elderly Indian stepped forward quickly, and said, "Speak, white man. I speak English a little."

"Good," said Scott; "then I want you to tell your friends here that I came after a horse that left our camp last night. Do you understand?"

The Indian inclined his head.

"There he is," continued Scott, pointing with his finger to Dan. "Give him to me, and I will go away."

The interpreter turned to his companions, and repeated what Scott had said. Evidently it was not favorably received, as Scott could see by the menacing looks that were turned upon him. He waited, with some anxiety, for the answer to his claim. He had to wait for some minutes, during which the Indians appeared to be consulting. It came at last.

"The white man has lied," said the Indian sententiously. "The horse is ours."

"That's pretty cool, eh, Tom?" said Scott, provoked; not only by the denial of his claim, but by the charge of falsehood.

Tom did not answer, thinking silence more prudent.

The Indian interpreter looked suspiciously from one to the other. He understood what "cool" meant, but was not familiar with the special sense in which Scott used it.

"I will prove that the horse is ours," said Scott. "Here, Dan!"

The horse whinnied, and tried to reach Scott, upon hearing his name pronounced.

"There," said Scott triumphantly, "you see the horse knows me. I have not lied."

The speech was an imprudent one. Indians are not lawyers, but they understand the familiar saying, that "possession is nine points of the law." That the horse was a valuable one they understood; and they had no intention of parting with him. Still more, they looked with covetous eyes at the horses ridden by Scott and the boy, and they had already made up their minds to seize them also.

"The white man is a magician," said the interpreter. "He has bewitched the horse. The horse is ours. He has always belonged to us."

"It's no use, Tom," said Scott. "They are bound to keep Dan, and I don't see how we can help it. We had better give him up, and get away if we can. All the same, the fellow is an outrageous liar."

He spoke in a low voice, and the interpreter, though listening attentively, did not quite catch what was said.

"I guess you are right," said Tom.

Scott turned to the interpreter.

"Well, if you think it is yours, squire, I reckon you will keep it. So we'll say good morning, and go."

He pulled the rein, but the Indian at his bridle did not let go.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said Scott. "We are going."

"White man must stay," said the Indian interpreter decisively.

"Why?" demanded Scott impatiently.

"He has tried to steal Indian's horse," said the wily savage.

"Well, by gosh; that's turning the tables with a vengeance," ejaculated Scott. "They're rather ahead of white rogues, Tom. Will you let the boy go?" he asked.

"White boy stay, too," answered the interpreter, after a brief reference to the leader of the Indian party.

"Tom," said Scott rapidly, and not appearing to be excited, lest his excitement should lead to suspicion, "none of them are mounted. Lash your horse, and tear from the grasp of the man that holds him; then follow me. It is our only chance."

Tom's heart beat rapidly. He knew that all his nerve was called for; but he did not falter.

"Give the signal," he said.

"One, two, three!" said Scott rapidly. Simultaneously both lashed their horses. The startled animals sprang forward. The grips of the Indians, who were not suspecting any attempts at escape, were already relaxed, and before they were fully aware of what was intended our two friends were galloping away.

CHAPTER XXIX.
A RACE FOR LIFE

The Indians were taken by surprise. They so outnumbered their intended captives that they had not anticipated an attempt at escape. But they had no intention of losing their prey. There was a howl of surprise and disappointment; then they sprang for their horses, and, with little delay, were on the track of our two friends.

The delay was small, but it was improved by Scott and Tom. Pressing their animals to their highest speed they gained a lead of several hundred feet before their savage pursuers had fairly started. It was well that Tom was a good rider, or he might not have been able to keep his seat. In fact, he had never ridden so rapidly before: but he felt that he was riding for his life, and was only anxious to ride faster. Scott had felt a little anxious on this point; but his anxiety vanished when he saw how easily and fearlessly his boy companion kept at his side.

"Well done, Tom!" he said, as they flew over the prairie. "Keep up this pace, and we will escape yet."

"I can do it, if my horse holds out," returned Tom briefly.

Scott looked over his shoulder, and, brave man as he was, it almost made him shudder. The whole party of Indians was on his track. He could see their dusky faces, distorted by wrath, and the longing for a savage revenge. He knew that Tom and he had little to hope for if they were caught. Fortunately their horses were strong and fleet, and not likely to break down.

"Ride for your life, Tom!" he shouted. "They will show us no mercy if they catch us."

"All right, Mr. Scott!" said Tom, his face flushed, and panting with excitement. If he had not felt that so much depended upon it; if he could have thrust out from his mind the sense of the awful peril in which he stood – he would have enjoyed the furious pace at which his horse was carrying him.

The horses ridden by the Indians were not equal in speed or endurance to those which the two friends bestrode. They were fresher indeed, but they did not make up for the difference between them. There was one exception, however: Dan, the stolen horse, was not only equal to either of their horses, but had the advantage of being fresher. This, after a while, began to tell. It was ridden by a young Indian brave, a brother of the leader. Soon he drew away from his companions, and, yard by yard, lessened the distance between himself and the pursued. At the end of three miles he was close upon them, and at least fifty rods in advance of his comrades. Scott saw this in one of his backward glances.

"Tom," said he, "the redskin on Dan is overhauling us."

"Will he catch us?"

"I mean to catch him," said Scott coolly.

Tom did not need to ask for an explanation. Scott wheeled round, took hasty but accurate aim at the Indian, and fired. The hapless warrior reeled in his saddle, loosed his hold of the reins, and fell to the ground, while his horse, continuing in his course, his pace accelerated by fright, soon galloped alongside of Scott. There was a howl of rage from the main body of Indians, who saw the fate of their comrade, without being able to help him.

"Now, Tom, ride as you never rode before!" shouted Scott. "We will circumvent those Indian devils yet, and bring Dan safe into camp. Come along, Dan, old fellow; you're doing nobly."

Dan recognized the familiar voice. He entered into the spirit of the race, and, relieved from the weight of his rider, dashed forward with increased speed, till he led, and Scott and Tom were forced to follow.

The Indians were mad with rage. Their comrade had received a fatal wound. They saw the round hole in his breast, from which the life-blood was gushing, and they thirsted for vengeance.

Should two palefaces, one of them a boy, escape from them? That would be a disgrace, indeed; the blood of their brother called for blood in return.

Could they have inspired their horses with the same spirit which animated themselves, they might, perhaps, have overtaken their intended captives; but, happily for our two friends, the horses were less interested than their riders.

The danger was well-nigh over. It was scarcely two miles to the camp. There they would be so re-enforced that the Indians would not venture an attack. That was the goal they had in view. Already they could see in the distance the wagon-train, ready for a start. They were surely safe now. But at this unlucky moment Tom's horse stumbled. The motion was so rapid that he could not retain his seat. He was thrown over the horse's head, and lay stunned and insensible upon the ground. His horse kept on his way to the camp.