Digging for Gold. Horatio Alger Jr.
to save his grandfather the expense of buying me a new one.”
“I suppose you accepted that.”
“No, I didn’t. I will have a new suit or none at all.”
“I like your spirit. I wish I could have you to work for me.”
“I would rather work for you than for Mr. Tarbox, but there is one thing I would like better still.”
“What is that?”
“To go to California.”
“What put that into your head?”
“Mrs. Bartlett was mentioning that John Heywood had just got back, bringing ten thousand dollars in gold.”
“Sho! You don’t say so.”
“And he bought a farm and is going to put up a new house.”
“Some men are lucky, that’s a fact. Ten thousand dollars, and he’s only just turned thirty. Well, I wish I were in his shoes.”
“I mean to go to California some time.”
“But how will you go? It costs money to go so far.”
“That’s true, and I don’t know where the money is coming from, but I mean to get there all the same.”
“If you had the money Seth Tarbox wouldn’t let you use it for that.”
“I’d like to see him stop me!” said Grant, nodding his head with emphasis.
“Well, I wish you luck, Grant, but I reckon it’ll be a good many years before you get to California.”
Privately Grant was of the same opinion, but the idea had entered his mind, and was not likely to be dislodged.
There were two ways of going home, one through the village, the same way he came, and the other across the railroad and over the fields. This was no shorter, but there was a variety in it, and Grant decided that he should take it.
A hundred feet from the place where he crossed the railroad there was a bridge spanning the creek, not wide, but lying some twenty feet below. The bridge was about fifty feet long.
As Grant gave a careless glance at the structure, which he was not intending to cross, he saw something that startled him. The supports of the further end of the bridge had given way, and it hung, partially fallen, supported only from the other end. It was clear that no train could pass over it in its present condition without being precipitated into the creek below.
“Good Heavens,” thought Grant, “there’ll be an accident! I wonder what could have weakened the bridge.”
It was useless speculating about this point. The danger was imminent, for in less than ten minutes a train was due.
Grant thought of going to the village and giving the alarm, but there was no time. Before he could return the train would have arrived, if on time, and the accident would have happened.
“What shall I do?” Grant asked himself in excitement. “The engineer will have no warning, and the train will push on at its usual speed.”
A vision of the wrecking of the train and the death of innocent and unsuspecting passengers rose before Grant’s mind, and he felt that the catastrophe must be averted if possible. If only some one would come along with whom to consult. But he was alone, and on his young shoulders rested a terrible responsibility.
What could he do?
CHAPTER IV
GRANT SAVES THE TRAIN
“I must signal to the engineer in some way,” thought Grant. “How shall I do it?”
He felt in his pocket and found that he had a white handkerchief of large size. He wore a soft felt hat. This he took off, spread the handkerchief over it, and then lifted it in the air on the tines of the pitchfork. Then he sought a place where he might attract the attention of the engineer.
About two hundred feet from the bridge there was a small eminence on one side of the railroad. It was just in front of a curve, and this seemed to Grant the best place to station himself. He posted himself there, raised the pitchfork, and waited anxiously for the train.
By and by he heard the cars approaching. His heart was in his mouth.
“Will they see me?” he asked himself. “If not – ” but he could not bear to think of the alternative.
As the train drew nearer and nearer he began to wave the hat vigorously, shouting at the same time, though he knew that his voice would be drowned by the thunderous noise of the train.
Nearer and nearer came the train. Would it stop?
All at once his heart was filled with joy, for the train began to slow up, and stopped just a little beyond where he was standing.
Grant ran forward till he was abreast with the engine.
“What’s the matter, boy?” demanded the engineer, half inclined to be angry. “If you are playing a trick on me, I’ll give you a good horse-whipping.”
“It’s no trick,” answered Grant earnestly. “The bridge just ahead is broken down.”
“Good Heavens! is this true?”
“Get out and see for yourself.”
The engineer lost no time in following Giant’s advice. He and his young guide walked forward, and he saw that Grant’s information was correct.
“It’s a narrow escape,” he said slowly. “The train would have been wrecked, and by this time in all probability I should have been a dead man.”
By this time a number of passengers, curious to know what had happened, and why the train had stopped so suddenly, got off the cars and advanced to where the engineer stood with Grant at his side.
“What’s the matter,” asked the first man.
“You can see for yourself,” answered the engineer, pointing to the bridge.
“Good Heavens!”
“You’ve been as near death as you probably ever will be without meeting it.”
“And what saved us?”
“This boy,” said the engineer, pointing to Grant. “But for him, some of us would be dead men at this moment.”
Grant blushed, for all eyes were fixed on him.
“It was lucky I was here and discovered the broken bridge,” he said.
“Gentlemen,” said a portly, gray-haired man, a clergyman, “this boy has under Providence been the means of saving our lives. He deserves a reward.”
“So he does! So he does!” exclaimed a dozen men heartily.
“Let me set the example,” and the minister took off his hat and deposited therein a five dollar bill. “I am not a rich man – ministers seldom are – but what I give, I give with all my heart.”
“Here is another!” said the engineer. “I am perhaps under deeper obligations than any one.”
“Let me contribute!” said a sweet-faced old lady, and she dropped another five-dollar bill into the minister’s hat.
Then the passengers generally brought forward their contributions, though some were able to give but a silver coin. There was one notable exception: One man, when he saw what was going forward, quietly shrunk away, and got back into the train.
“Who’s that man,” asked the engineer sharply.
“I know,” said an Irishman, who out of his poverty had given a dollar. “It’s Mr. Leonard Buckley, of New York. He’s worth a million. He is rich enough to buy us all up.”
“No matter how much money he possesses, he is a poor man,” said the minister significantly.
“He’s given all his life is worth to the world,” said a passenger cynically. “When he dies he won’t be missed.”
“And