The Young Miner | Page 8

Tom, if I meet with any good opening that I think will suit
you, I shall write you. You don't want to stay here, particularly?"
"No; the place is not so pleasant since these new people have come
here. Missouri Jack isn't a neighbor that I like."
"He is exerting a bad influence," said Ferguson. "I am afraid Peabody
visits him too often for his own good."
"He ought to have stayed in Boston," said Miles. "He is not the man for
such a life as ours. He is too delicate to work, or thinks he is, and I see
no other reliable road to success."
"I saw Peabody reeling out of the saloon this afternoon," said Tom. "I

asked him if he considered it was 'high-toned' to drink in a saloon, as
that is the word he is always using, but he said it didn't make much
difference out here, where he wasn't known."
"Peabody isn't overstocked with brains, though he does come from
Boston," said Miles.
Ten o'clock came, and Miles rose to go.
"I must have a good night's rest," he said, "for to-morrow night must
see me many miles on my road. Tom, I will attend to that commission
of yours just as soon as I have the opportunity."
"Thank you, Mr. Miles."
John Miles walked slowly toward his tent. Arrived there, he threw
himself down on his rude couch, and in less than fifteen minutes, he
was sound asleep. He had done his usual day's work, and made some
preparations for his journey besides, and these made slumber sweet and
refreshing.
Before settling himself for the night, however, Miles carefully
deposited a bag of gold-dust under his head, wrapped up in an extra
pair of pantaloons. Had he known that Bill Crane had formed a plan to
rob him that very night, he would have taken extra precautions, but he
was not inclined to be suspicious, or to anticipate danger.
Perhaps an hour later, Tom, who found himself unusually restless, got
up from his hard couch, leaving Ferguson fast asleep, and went out into
the air, thinking that a walk would do him good and dispose him to
sleep. The night was dark, but not wholly so. There was no moon, but a
few stars were shining; and as his eyes became accustomed to the faint
light, he could easily distinguish objects at the distance of a few rods.
Tom's thoughts reverted to his humble home, more than three thousand
miles away. Probably the fact that he had committed to John Miles a
sum of money to send to his father, had turned his thoughts in that
direction.

"Father will be glad to get the seventy-five dollars," thought Tom, "and
I am sure he will need it. I wish it could get there more quickly, but it is
a long way off."
Tom was not homesick, and was far from wishing himself back, with
his object in coming yet unaccomplished, but it did occur to him, that
he would like to see his father and mother, and brothers and sisters, if
only for a few minutes.
When he came out he had no particular direction in mind in which he
wished to walk, but chance directed his steps toward the tent of his
friend, John Miles.
When he came near it, his attention was arrested by the sight of a
crouching figure which appeared to be entering the tent. His first
thought was, that Miles, like himself, had got up from his couch and
was just returning. He was on the point of calling out "John," when a
sudden doubt and suspicion silenced him.--"Might not it be a robber?"
Tom was determined to find out. He crept nearer, so that he could have
a clearer view of the figure.
"It's Bill Crane!" he said to himself, with sudden recognition. "What's
he up to?"
Tom could guess. He didn't know the man's antecedents, but he had
read his character aright. He was instantly on the alert. Crane evidently
was on a thief's errand, and was likely to steal not only Miles's money
but Tom's. Our hero was alive to the emergency, and resolved to foil
him. He had his revolver with him; for in the unsettled state of society,
with no one to enforce the laws, and indeed no laws to enforce, it was
the custom for all men to go armed.
Tom was not long left in doubt as to Crane's intentions. He saw him
cautiously pulling at something in the tent, and felt sure that it was the
bag of treasure. He decided that the time had come to act.
"Put that back," he exclaimed in boyish, but clear, commanding tone.

Bill Crane turned suddenly, panic-stricken.
He saw Tom standing a few feet from him, with a