The Trail of 98 | Page 7

see that he was to be a quick favourite. I
envied him for his ease of manner, a thing I could never compass.
Presently he returned to me.
"Say, partner, got any money?"
There was something frank and compelling in his manner, so that I

produced the few dollars I had left, and spread them before him.
"That's all my wealth," I said smilingly.
He divided it into two equal portions and returned one to me. He took a
note of the other, saying:
"All right, I'll settle up with you later on."
He went off with my money. He seemed to take it for granted I would
not object, and on my part I cared little, being only too eager to show I
trusted him. A few minutes later behold him seated at a card-table with
three rough-necked, hard-bitten-looking men. They were playing poker,
and, thinks I: "Here's good-bye to my money." It minded me of wolves
and a lamb. I felt sorry for my new friend, and I was only glad he had
so little to lose.
We were drawing in to Los Angeles when he rejoined me. To my
surprise he emptied his pockets of wrinkled notes and winking silver to
the tune of twenty dollars, and dividing it equally, handed half to me.
"Here," says he, "plant that in your dip."
"No," I said, "just give me back what you borrowed; that's all I want."
"Oh, forget it! You staked me, and it's well won. These guinneys took
me for a jay. Thought I was easy, but I've forgotten more than they ever
knew, and I haven't forgotten so much either."
"No, you keep it, please. I don't want it."
"Oh, come! put your Scotch scruples in your pocket. Take the money."
"No," I said obstinately.
"Look here, this partnership of ours is based on financial equality. If
you don't like my gate, you don't need to swing on it."
"All right," said I tartly, "I don't want to."

Then I turned on my heel.
CHAPTER V
On either side of us were swift hills mottled with green and gold, ahead
a curdle of snow-capped mountains, above a sky of robin's-egg blue.
The morning was lyric and set our hearts piping as we climbed the
canyon. We breathed deeply of the heady air, exclaimed at sight of a
big bee ranch, shouted as a mule team with jingling bells came
swinging down the trail. With cries of delight we forded the little
crystal stream wherever the trail plunged knee-deep through it. Higher
and higher we climbed, mile after mile, our packs on our shoulders, our
hearts very merry. I was as happy as a holiday schoolboy, willing this
should go on for ever, dreading to think of the grim-visaged toil that
awaited us.
About midday we reached the end. Gangs of men were everywhere,
ripping and tearing at the mountain side. There was a roar of blasting,
and rocks hurtled down on us. Bunkhouses of raw lumber sweated in
the sun. Everywhere was the feverish activity of a construction camp.
We were assigned to a particular bunkhouse, and there was a great rush
for places. It was floorless, doorless and in part roofless. Above the
medley of voices I heard that of the Prodigal:
"Say, fellows, let's find the softest side of this board! Strikes me the
Company's mighty considerate. All kinds of ventilation. Good chance
to study astronomy. Wonder if I couldn't borrow a mattress somewhere?
Ha! Good eye! Watch me, fellows!"
We saw him make for a tent nearby where horses were stabled. He
reconnoitred carefully, then darted inside to come out in a twinkling,
staggering under a bale of hay.
"How's that for rustling? I guess I'm slow--hey, what? Guess this is
poor!"
He was wadding his bunk with the hay, while the others looked on

rather enviously. Then, as a bell rang, he left off.
"Hash is ready, boys; last call to the dining-car. Come on and see the
pigs get their heads in the trough."
We hurried to the cookhouse, where a tin plate, a tin cup, a tin spoon
and a cast-iron knife was laid for each of us at a table of unplaned
boards. A great mess of hash was ready, and excepting myself every
one ate voraciously. I found something more to my taste, a can of
honey and some soda crackers, on which I supped gratefully.
When I returned to the bunkhouse I found my bunk had been stuffed
with nice soft hay, and my blankets spread on top. I looked over to the
Prodigal. He was reading, a limp cigarette between his yellow-stained
fingers. I went up to him.
"It's very good of you to do this," I said.
"Oh no! Not at all. Don't mention it," he answered