CHAPTER VIII.
BILL CRANE'S DISAGREEABLE DISCOVERY.
It was five o'clock in the morning when Bill Crane opened his eyes. Hefelt refreshed by his night's sleep, yet under ordinary circumstanceswould have deferred getting up for at least an hour. But theconsciousness that he had a treasure to guard, and the knowledge that hewas at any moment liable to be called to account by the real owner,whose camp was scarcely more than a mile distant, aroused him toexertion.
"I must get away while John Miles is still asleep," he bethoughthimself. "Let me get to Frisco first, and I can at once dispose of it,and he will never find me out."
Crane did not wait to prepare breakfast. That he could take on the roadan hour or two later, when he felt safe from interruption. He rose andshook himself. This was his scanty toilet. Next he must take the bagfrom its place of concealment, and then he could commence his journey.
While uncovering the bag, Crane did not discover that it had beentampered with, partly because it was still there. It was natural tosuppose that, if discovered by a third party, it would be carried away.He did not even open the bag, not thinking it necessary.
"John Miles hasn't waked up yet," he said to himself with a smile. "Whenhe does, there'll be some swearing, I'll be bound. You're a good boy,John Miles, but you ain't so smart as you think you are. I think I havegot the start of you this time."
Bill Crane rode off smiling.
His course led him by the camp of the Chinamen. Early as it was theywere astir. Ah Sin saw the rider, and at once recognized him as the manhe had robbed. How could Crane know that those pleasant-faced barbarianshad served him such a trick?
"Hallo, Chinamen!" he said aloud. "Have they got out here already? I'llspeak to them. Hallo, John!" he said, halting his horse, for even thenevery Chinaman was John.
"How do, John?" replied Ah Sin, smiling blandly.
"My name isn't John, but no matter. What are you two doing?"
"Looking for gold," was the reply.
"Do you find any?"
"Velly little. Bad place."
"Have you been in San Francisco?"
"Yes, John."
"Why didn't you stay there?"
"Too many Chinamen--too little washee,--washee."
"What have you got in the way of provisions? Mine are stale. I'd like tobuy some of you."
"We have got a little lice, John."
"Got a little what? Oh, I know: you mean rice. Why don't you pronounceyour English better?"
"Because Chinamen not 'Melican men."
"Then I suppose I may as well be moving on, as I can't get anything outof you. Oh, have you got any tea, John?"
"Yes, John."
"Got any made?"
Ah Sin produced a cup, for he and his friend had just prepared theirbreakfast, and being warm, Bill Crane gulped it down with a relish.
"After all, a man needs some warm drink in the morning," he said tohimself. "How much to pay, John?"
"Nothing, John. 'Melican man welcome."
"John, you're a gentleman, or rather both of you are gentlemen, even ifyou are heathens. I'll remember you in my prayers."
The eminent Christian, Bill Crane, rode off from the Chinese camp,calmly confident of his moral superiority to the two benighted heathenwhom he left behind him. Whether he remembered his promise to intercedefor them in prayer is a little doubtful, or would have been, if he hadhad occasion to pray himself. It is to be feared that prayer and WilliamCrane had long been strangers.
As Crane rode away, the two Chinamen exchanged glances. A gentle smilelighted up their yellow faces, and they were doubtless thinking ofsomething pleasant. They exchanged a few guttural remarks which I shouldlike to be able to translate, for they doubtless referred to Bill Crane,whom they had kindly supplied with a cup of tea gratis. Yet, perhaps,considering all things, it was the dearest cup of tea Crane had everdrank, since it was the only return he got for a bag of gold-dust worthover two hundred dollars. But there is an old saying, "Where ignoranceis bliss, 'tis folly to be wise." Crane was just as happy as if the bagreally contained gold-dust. But this happy ignorance was not to lastlong.
After riding five or six miles our traveller thought he might venture todismount for rest and refreshment. He selected as his breakfast-tablethe green sward beside a sparkling mountain streamlet. He dismounted,permitting his horse to graze while he took out the stale provisionswhich must constitute his morning meal. They were not very palatable,and Crane sighed for the breakfasts of old, the memory of which at thismoment was very tantalizing. But he comforted himself with the thoughtthat he had the means of making up for his enforced self-denial when hereached San Francisco.
This naturally led him to open the bag, and feast his eyes over hiseasily obtained wealth. He untied the string, and with a smile ofpleased anticipation peered at the contents.
His face changed suddenly.
Was he dreaming? In place of the shining dust, his eyes rested on--sand.
He hastily thrust in his finger, and stirred the grains. But nothingelse was to be discovered. The bag contained nothing but worthless sand.
Crane stared at the deceptive bag in the most lugubrious astonishment.Surely the bag contained gold-dust when he concealed it. There could beno doubt on that point, for he had opened it and seen the contents forhimself. But in that case, how could such a change have been effected inone night? It had not been touched; so, at any rate, he believed. He hadfound it in the morning in the exact spot where he had placed itovernight, and yet--
Bill Crane took another look at the contents of the bag, hoping that hehad been deceived by some ocular delusion, but the second examinationbrought him no comfort. He sank back, feeling in a state of mental andbodily collapse.
Never was poor thief so utterly bewildered as Bill Crane. He couldalmost believe that some magical transformation had been practiced athis expense. Was it possible, he thought, that John Miles, discoveringhis loss, had visited him, and played this trick upon him? He could notbelieve this. It was not in accordance with John's direct,straightforward nature. Instead of acting in this secret manner, hewould have sternly charged Crane with the robbery, and punished him onthe spot. Leaving him out of the account, then, the mystery deepened. Itnever occurred to Crane to suspect the Chinamen who had so hospitablyfurnished him with a cup of tea. Even if they had come into his mind, hewould have been puzzled to account for their knowledge of his having thebag in his possession.
Bill Crane was decidedly unhappy. His glowing anticipations ofprosperity, based upon the capital contained in the bag, were rudelybroken in upon, and the airy fabric of his hopes dashed to the ground.He felt that fortune had been unkind--that he was a deeply injured man.Had his claim to the stolen property been the best possible, he couldnot have felt the injustice of fate more keenly.
"It's always the way!" he exclaimed in deep dejection. "I always wasunlucky. Just as I thought I was on my feet again, this cursed gold-dustturns to sand. Here am I out in the wilderness without an ounce to myname. I don't know what to do. I'd give a good deal, if I had it, tofind out what became of the gold-dust."
As he spoke, Crane, in a fit of ill-temper, kicked the unlucky bag to adistance, and slowly and disconsolately mounting his horse, plodded onhis way. All his cheerfulness was gone. It was some comfort, but stillscant, to think that John Miles was as unlucky as himself. Both hadbecome penniless tramps, and were alike the sport of Fortune. There wasa difference in respect to their desert, however. John Miles mayrightly claim the reader's sympathy, while Bill Crane must be consideredto have met with a disaster which he richly deserved.