The Young Miner; Or, Tom Nelson in California. Alger Horatio Jr.
Crane, but he felt very much relieved.
"You probably owe your life to his kindness," said Miles, quietly. "He tells me you wish me to do something for you in Frisco."
"I've changed my mind," said Crane, abruptly; "I may go there myself, soon."
Miles smiled.
"I thought it might be something urgent," he said, "since it led you to come to my tent at midnight."
"I thought you would be starting away early this morning."
"Well thought of, Bill Crane; but it is only fair to tell you that I don't believe a word you say. I have one thing to say to you before I go, and you had better bear it in mind. If you harm a hair of Tom Nelson's head, and I believe you quite capable of it, I will never rest till I have found you out and punished you for it."
"I am not afraid of you, John Miles," retorted Crane, but he looked uncomfortable.
"You will have cause to be, if you injure Tom."
Miles walked off, leaving behind him a bitter enemy.
"I hate him—him and the boy too!" muttered Bill Crane. "If I dared, I would put my mark on him before he leaves the camp."
But Crane did not dare. He knew that he was in a very critical position. His safety depended on the silence of two persons—one of whom would soon be gone. He was not aware that Ferguson also knew of his attempted crime, or the danger would have seemed greater. However much he thirsted for vengeance, it would not do to gratify it now. He must bide his time.
Bill Crane was cunning as well as malignant. He decided to quiet Tom's suspicions if he could, and ensure his continued silence, by an affectation of friendliness. He waited till he saw our hero washing dust beyond earshot of any listeners, and strolled up to him.
"How are you getting on, Tom?" he asked, with an appearance of friendliness.
Tom looked up quickly. Considering all that had happened, he was somewhat struck by Crane's effrontery.
"Fairly well," he answered coldly.
"Shan't I relieve you a few minutes?" proposed Crane.
"No, thank you."
"It's pretty hard work, and don't pay as well as it might. I think California's a humbug, for my part."
"Have you tried washing for gold?" asked Tom. "I haven't seen you at work."
"Not here. I've tried it elsewhere, but it's slow."
"Then, why do you stay here?" asked Tom, naturally.
Crane shrugged his shoulders.
"Because I haven't money to get away," he said. "I'm waiting for something to turn up. If I could only get to Frisco, I would go into some business. I would like to have gone with Miles."
"Was that what you were going to propose to him, last night?" asked Tom, dryly.
"Yes, I wanted to speak to him on that subject. I had a great mind to ask him to lend me a little money, and take me along with him. I would have arranged to pay him soon after we reached Frisco."
Tom knew that the fellow was lying, and remained silent.
"You made a little mistake about my intentions," continued Bill Crane, smoothly, "but perhaps it was natural under the circumstances."
Tom thought it was, but still preserved silence, much to Crane's discomfiture.
Bill Crane eyed him sharply, and saw his incredulity, but for that he cared little, if only he could secure his silence.
"I think you will see that it isn't fair to me to speak of this matter," he continued.
"I had made up my mind not to speak of it," said Tom. "I don't want to get you into trouble."
"Good-morning, Mr. Crane," said Lawrence Peabody, who had just come up.
"Good-morning, Peabody. I was watching our friend Tom. How are you getting on?"
"I haven't done anything yet to-day. It's dirty work. I don't think it's fit for a gentleman; Tom, there, is used to work, and he don't mind."
"Shall we go round to Jack's?"
"All right!"
And the two walked away together.
"I am sorry Peabody doesn't keep better company," Tom said to himself. "Bill Crane won't do him any good."
CHAPTER VI.
ROBBED IN HIS SLEEP
Tom was right in concluding that Bill Crane's influence over Peabody was anything but good. The young Bostonian, however, was not long subjected to it. During the night following John Miles's departure, the little settlement at River Bend was called upon to deplore the loss of an eminent member.
In brief, somewhere between midnight and dawn Mr. William Crane took his departure, without the ceremony of leave-taking. Had he gone alone no one perhaps would have felt any violent sorrow, but he took with him a horse belonging to Adam Dietrich, an industrious young German, who had only recently arrived. No one had seen the two go together, but it was only natural to suppose that Crane had spirited away the horse.
Dietrich borrowed a horse, and, accompanied by a friend, set out in search of the thief, but returned at night unsuccessful. Had it been wet weather, it might have been possible to track the fugitive; but it was very dry, and the trail was soon lost. It was almost impossible to tell what direction Crane would choose, and continued pursuit would not pay, so Adam sadly returned to his work.
Little doubt was entertained among the miners that Crane was responsible for the loss of the horse. Had he been caught, there would have been small chance for him, so generally was he pronounced guilty. A few of his companions, especially Missouri Jack, defended him.
"Bill Crane wouldn't steal a horse any more than I would," said Jack; and there were those who agreed with him without acquitting Bill. "Bill ain't no saint, but he ain't a thief."
Whether Jack believed what he said, admits of a doubt. Crane needed a different advocate to clear him from suspicion.
It may as well be stated that Crane did steal the horse. He had a decided objection to walking as long as he could ride, and, having no animal of his own, annexed the property of his neighbor.
He had two motives which influenced him to leave the settlement. First, he was in Tom's power, and he was by no means certain that our hero would keep silence touching his night-attempt at robbery. In the second place, he still coveted the bag of gold-dust which John Miles carried away with him. He had been prevented from taking it; but, as Miles was travelling alone, he foresaw a better chance of success if he should follow on his track.
How or under what circumstances he should make the new attempt he left to be decided later. The first thing, obviously, was to overtake him.
Crane experienced the same difficulty in tracking Miles that had led to the failure of his own pursuers. It was only on the fifth day, that, as he halted his steed on the hillside, and cast long glances about him, he caught sight, a mile away, of the object of his pursuit. He could not mistake the sturdy, broad-shouldered figure, and large, massive head.
"That's Miles, sure enough!" he exclaimed, joyfully. "I thought I had missed him, but I'm in luck. That bag must be mine."
The most direct course was to ride up in the fashion of a highwayman, and demand the bag. But Crane did not mean to proceed in this fashion. Physically, though not a weak man, he was not a match for Miles, and he knew it. Cunning must supply the place of strength. He knew that Miles was a sound sleeper, and could think of no better plan than repeating the visit he had made in camp. It was already late in the afternoon when he caught sight of the sturdy miner. It was his policy now to keep him in sight, but not to approach near enough for recognition. Once seen, Miles would be on his guard, and the game would be spoiled. Crane halted, therefore, and drew back within the shadow of the trees, henceforth advancing cautiously.
John Miles did not once turn back. Had he done so, it is quite possible that he might have caught a glimpse of his pursuer. He had travelled since morning, and his faithful horse was beginning