The Young Treasure Hunter | Page 4

help to him.
After that Fred tried in vain to get a steady position. He worked for a few days driving a team for a man, and occasionally did odd jobs for one of the merchants in town, or for some of the residents, but the pay was poor, and he seldom had three full days' work a week.
He had heard of the unexpected prosperity that had come to New Strike, and, knowing that there is usually plenty of work in a new mining camp, he determined to go there and see what he could find.
As Fred reached the mountain trail, leading to New Strike, he saw that it had been well traveled. On both sides of the narrow road were evidences that many teams had passed that way recently, for the refuse of camp stuff, broken boxes and barrels, and things that the miners had thrown away as useless, littered the ground.
As Fred made a turn in the road, he saw, just ahead of him, an old man, mounted on a small donkey. The man's legs were so long, and the donkey so little, that the rider's shoes nearly touched the ground.
Either the animal was lazy, or it was unable to carry the load on its back,--for the man had a big bundle on the saddle before him,--and the donkey went at a very slow pace. So slow, in fact, that Fred soon caught up to the rider.
"Good-morning," the boy said.
"Ah, stranger, good-morning," was the man's answer. "I see you are headed for the same place I am."
"I don't know whether it's the same place or not, but I'm going to New Strike," said Fred.
"So am I, if this donkey lasts the trip out. He's awful slow, stranger. What might your name be?"
"Fred Stanley."
"Where you from?"
"Piddock."
"Hum. Well I'm Bill Gardner. Old Bill Gardner, they mostly calls me."
"And where are you from?" asked Fred, thinking it only polite to manifest some interest in the rider.
"Me? Oh, I ain't from nowhere in particular. I make my home wherever I happen to drop my pick and shovel. I'm a prospector," and Fred noticed that, in addition to his bundle, the old man had a set of mining tools.
"Are you going to locate at New Strike?" asked Fred.
"That's what I am. I heard there was some rich pockets there, and I want to get my share. G'lang there, you jack rabbit!" and the man jerked the donkey's reins.
"That's a queer name for a donkey," commented Fred.
"Well, this is a queer donkey. I call him a jack rabbit because he's so different. He wouldn't jump if you fired a cannon off right under him."
"Did you ever try it?"
"No, but he stood right near a blast one day, when it went off before I was ready for it, and all he done was to wiggle one ear a bit, as though a fly had bit him. Oh, he's the slowest donkey I ever saw, and I've seen some pretty lazy ones. But do you expect to do any prospecting in New Strike? Where's your outfit?"
"I haven't any."
"Guess you'll find it pretty hard to pick up one in the camps. Every man'll want his own."
"Oh, I don't expect to look for gold."
"What are you going to look for then?"
"A job. I heard they wanted drivers for the ore carts at the stamp mills, and I thought I might fill the bill."
"I guess you could, if the places aren't all taken. But, why don't you try mining?"
"I don't believe I'm old enough."
"Oh, yes, you are. I came to California, 'way back in '49, when I was only a boy, and I've been mining ever since."
"My father was a miner," said Fred.
"Was he? What's his name?"
"Norman Stanley."
"What! Norman Stanley, who used to work in the Eagle's Claw mine?"
"Yes," replied the boy, who had often heard his father speak of the mine mentioned.
"Well, well! I know him like a brother. Just tell him you met old Bill Gardner, and he'll remember me all right."
"I will."
"And I'll speak a good word for you when we get to the new diggings," went on the old man. "I know every miner in these parts worth knowing. G'lang there, Kangaroo."
"I thought you said the donkey's name was Jack Rabbit."
"No, that's not his name. You see I call him something different every time."
"Why?" inquired Fred.
"Well, I think one name gets sort of tiresome for an animal. And then I think, if I call him a different name every time, he'll think maybe I'm somebody else, and he'll go faster. He knows me so well he won't pay any attention to me, and he knows I won't hit him. But if I call him a different name, he may think there's a different man on his back, and he may run a bit."
"He doesn't seem to