The Young Miner | Page 3

yes, there are; but they are few and far between," said Fletcher. "A
neighbor of mine found one worth three thousand dollars. Altogether
he brought home five thousand dollars, and invested it in a farm and
saw-mill. He is doing a good business. When he came to California he
had nothing."
"That is what I should like, Captain Fletcher," said Tom. "If I could
only manage to carry home five thousand dollars, I could make my
father comfortable for life."
"I shouldn't be satisfied with five thousand dollars," said Peabody,
whose ideas were lofty.
"How much would satisfy you?"
"About fifty thousand," said the young Bostonian, his face lighting up
at the thought of so large a sum.
"And what would you do with it, if I may make so bold?" asked
Ferguson.

"I would buy a nice house at the South End, furnish it handsomely, and
live in style."
"I suppose you would marry?" suggested Tom, smiling.
"I probably should," answered Peabody, gravely.
"Perhaps you have the lady already selected."
"I have."
"Who is she?" asked John Mills. "Come, now, Peabody, don't be
bashful."
"It is the daughter of a Boston merchant."
"Does the lady love you?"
"We understand each other," answered Peabody, loftily. "She would
marry me, poor as I am, but for her purse-proud, mercenary sire. It will
be a happy day when, with my pockets full of gold, I enter his presence
and claim his daughter's hand."
"I wish you success, Mr. Peabody," said Tom. "I hope you have no
rivals."
"Yes, there is one."
"Are you not afraid of him?"
"Oh, no; he is a fellow of no style," said Peabody, drawing up his
slender form, and looking as stylish as a very dirty shirt, muddy boots,
and a soiled suit would allow.
"I think I shall wait awhile before getting married," said Tom. "I am
afraid I wouldn't stand any chance with an heiress, Mr. Peabody. Do
you think I can ever be stylish?"
The Bostonian understood Tom to be in earnest, and told him he

thought in time, under proper training, he might become fairly stylish.
The conversation was interrupted by the ringing of a bell from the
log-house. Mrs. Fletcher, by an arrangement with the party, prepared
their meals, and thus they fared better than most of the early pioneers.
Their labor gave them a good appetite, and they were more solicitous
about quantity than quality. Slow as he was at his work, there was no
one who exhibited greater alacrity at meal-times, than Lawrence
Peabody. At such times he was even cheerful.
CHAPTER II.
MISSOURI JACK.
At the end of a month the settlement had considerably increased. A
large party from Missouri went to work farther up stream, and a few
stray emigrants also added themselves to the miners at River Bend, for
this was the name selected by Captain Fletcher for the location. The
new arrivals were a rougher and more disorderly class than Fletcher
and his companions. Already there was a saloon, devoted to the double
purpose of gambling and drinking; and the proprietor, Missouri Jack
(no one knew his last name), was doing a thriving business. Indeed his
income considerably exceeded that of any one in the settlement.
Neither Tom nor any of his party contributed much to Missouri Jack's
profits. In consequence, they had to bear the ill-will and sometimes
open abuse of Jack and his friends.
"Come in and take a drink, stranger," called out Jack, the day after the
opening of the saloon, to Captain Fletcher.
"No, thank you."
"It shan't cost you a cent."
"It would cost me my health," returned Fletcher.
"Do you mean to say I sell bad whiskey?" demanded Jack, angrily,

emphasizing the inquiry by an oath.
"I don't know anything about it."
"Then what do you mean?"
"I mean that all whiskey is bad for the health," replied Fletcher.
"Oh, you're a temperance sneak!" exclaimed Missouri Jack,
contemptuously.
"I am a temperance man; you may leave out the other word," calmly
answered Fletcher.
"You're not a man!" exploded Jack. "A man that's afraid of whiskey is
a--a--isn't half a man. He isn't fit to be a woman."
"Have it as you like," said Fletcher, unruffled. "I shall not drink to
please any man. I had a younger brother--a bright, promising young
man poor Ben was--who drank himself to death. He'd have been alive
now but for whiskey."
"Oh, dry up your pious talk! You make me sick!" exclaimed Missouri
Jack in deep disgust.
Next he accosted John Miles, who curtly declined and received in
return a volley of abuse. Now Miles was a powerful man, and not
possessed of Fletcher's self-control. He paused, and surveyed Jack with
a menacing look.
"Look here, stranger," he said, sharply, "just have a care how you use