Twice Bought | Page 5

spot he obtained a view of intermingled forest, prairie, lake,
and river, so resplendent that even his mind was for a moment diverted
from its gloomy introspections, and a glance of admiration shot from
his eyes and chased the wrinkles from his brow; but the frown quickly
returned, and the glorious landscape was forgotten as the thought of his
dreadful condition returned with overwhelming power.
Up to that day Tom Brixton, with all his faults, had kept within the
circle of the world's laws. He had been well trained in boyhood, and,
with the approval of his mother, had left England for the Oregon
goldfields in company with a steady, well-principled friend, who had
been a playmate in early childhood and at school. The two friends had
experienced during three years the varying fortune of a digger's life;
sometimes working for long periods successfully, and gradually
increasing their "pile;" at other times toiling day after day for nothing
and living on their capital, but on the whole, making what men called a
good thing of it until Tom took to gambling, which, almost as a matter
of course, led to drinking. The process of demoralisation had continued
until, as we have seen, the boundary line was at last overstepped, and
he had become a thief and an outlaw.
At that period and in those diggings Judge Lynch--in other words,
off-hand and speedy "justice" by the community of miners--was the
order of the day, and, as stealing had become exasperatingly common,
the penalty appointed was death, the judges being, in most cases, the
prompt executioners.
Tom Brixton knew well what his fate would be if captured, and this
unquestionably filled him with anxiety, but it was not this thought that
caused him, as he reclined on the sunny knoll, to spurn the bag of gold
with his foot.
"Trash!" he exclaimed, bitterly, repeating the kick.

But the love of gold had taken deep root in the fallen youth's heart.
After a brief rest he arose, slung the "trash" over his shoulder, and,
descending the knoll, quickly disappeared in the glades of the forests.
CHAPTER TWO.
While Brixton was hurrying with a guilty conscience deeper and deeper
into the dark woods which covered the spur of the mountains in the
neighbourhood of Pine Tree Diggings, glancing back nervously from
time to time as if he expected the pursuers to be close at his heels, an
enemy was advancing to meet him in front, of whom he little dreamed.
A brown bear, either enjoying his morning walk or on the look-out for
breakfast, suddenly met him face to face, and stood up on its hind legs
as if to have a good look at him.
Tom was no coward; indeed he was gifted with more than an average
amount of animal courage. He at once levelled his rifle at the creature's
breast and fired. The bear rushed at him, nevertheless, as if uninjured.
Drawing his revolver, Tom discharged two shots before the monster
reached him. All three shots had taken effect but bears are noted for
tenacity of life, and are frequently able to fight a furious battle after
being mortally wounded. The rifle ball had touched its heart, and the
revolver bullets had gone deep into its chest, yet it showed little sign of
having been hurt.
Knowing full well the fate that awaited him if he stood to wrestle with
a bear, the youth turned to run, but the bear was too quick for him. It
struck him on the back and felled him to the earth.
Strange to say, at that moment Tom Brixton's ill-gotten gains stood him
in good stead. There can be no question that the bear's tremendous
claws would have sunk deep into the youth's back, and probably broken
his spine, if they had not been arrested by the bag of gold which was
slung at his back. Although knocked down and slightly stunned,
Brixton was still unwounded, and, even in the act of falling, had
presence of mind to draw his long knife and plunge it up to the haft in
the creature's side, at the same time twisting himself violently round so

as to fall on his back and thus face the foe.
In this position, partly owing to the form of the ground, the bear found
it difficult to grasp its opponent in its awful embrace, but it held him
with its claws and seized his left shoulder with its teeth. This rendered
the use of the revolver impossible, but fortunately Brixton's right arm
was still free, and he drove the keen knife a second time deep into the
animal's sides. Whether mortal or not, the wound did not immediately
kill. Tom felt that his hour was come, and a deadly fear came over him
as