Two Boy Gold Miners: or, Lost in the Mountains

CHAPTER XXIII
CHEERLESS PROSPECTS

While Jed and his brother were having such exciting times in the West, matters at the Crosby farm were going along in their usual slow fashion.

The first few days after Jed and Will, in company with Gabe Harrison, had departed, Mrs. Crosby and her daughter Nettie were very lonesome.

"It does seem just as if I'd never see my boys again," said the mother, wiping away some tears gathered in her eyes.

"You mustn't think that way, ma," said Nettie. "First thing you know they'll come back as rich – well, rich enough to have an automobile, maybe."

"I'm afraid not. I haven't much faith in this gold-mining scheme, though I believe Mr. Harrison meant all right. I wish the boys had stuck to farming."

"But, mother, they could hardly make a living at it. Look at father, how hard he has to work, and how little we can save."

"I know it, but it's sure. We have our hens, and we get some eggs. We can go out in the garden and dig potatoes, and we have fruit."

"Yes, but we can't live on eggs, potatoes and fruit," objected Nettie with a laugh. "Now, don't worry, mother. I'm sure the boys will make out all right, though it may take some time. It will be a month before they are in the gold region. I hope they send me some souvenir postals."

"Do they have souvenir postals out in the mines?"

"I guess so, mother. They have 'em most every place, and I've got quite a collection."

Mrs. Crosby eagerly watched the mails for the next few days, and she was rewarded by receiving brief notes from the boys, written on their route, telling of the incidents of the way.

As for Mr. Crosby, he was so busy preparing for winter and arranging to pay the interest on the mortgage, that he gave little thought, at first, to the two young gold miners. Of course, he was interested in them, and he hoped for their success, but he was worried about how he would get along without their help on the farm, though most of the fall work was done.

The money received from the barley crop, together with some from the sale of other farm products, was, after part had been taken out for the boys' outfits, placed in the bank at Rossmore, which was the nearest large town to Lockport. Mr. Crosby wanted to keep the cash there until he had enough to meet the payment of interest on the mortgage, which would be due in a few weeks.

He had not quite enough, and he did not see how he was going to complete the sum in time, but he trusted the man who held the mortgage would wait for the balance. He determined, however, to make it up if he could, and, for that reason, he was busier than usual, gathering in all the products he could afford to sell off.

"You look worried, Enos," remarked Mrs. Crosby one evening, when her husband came in from the village. "Has anything happened?"

"Nothing special. I saw Jimson this afternoon."

"The man who holds the mortgage on this place?"

"Yes. I told him I was afraid I'd be a few dollars short in the interest, and I asked him if he'd wait a few weeks."

"What did he say?"

"He said he wouldn't. Told me I had to have it all or he'd foreclose."

"And take the farm away from us?"

"That's what it would mean. He's been wanting it ever since he heard what a fine barley crop I raised."

"What will you do?"

"I don't know. I've tried my best to get the whole sum together, but I don't see how I can rake up another dollar. We have to live, and I can't touch the money I have put away for winter."

"Maybe we could get along on less than usual," suggested Mrs. Crosby.

"No, it's little enough as it is. I've calculated very closely, and the sum I have saved for winter is barely enough as it is. If anything happens, or one of us gets sick, there'll not be enough. I was thinking I might get something to do in the village, or over in Rossmore, but I can't leave you and Nettie here alone to look after the farm. I might sell the horse, but it would not bring much now. Nobody wants to keep a horse through the winter. I declare, I don't know what to do. Prospects are pretty dismal."

"If we had the boys home now, maybe they could get work somewhere, and help out."

"No, on the whole I'm glad the boys have gone out West. Their gold hunting may not amount to much – likely it won't – but it will be a good thing for them. They needed a little change from the drudgery of always working on a farm. Of course, if they were here they'd help, but they're not, and I'll not wish them back before they've had a fair chance, though I'd like to see them, for I miss them considerably."

"So do I," added his wife.

"And I wish they were home," added Nettie. "I haven't had a good game of checkers since Will went away."

"I reckon they've got other things besides checkers to think about now," said her father.

Two or three weeks passed. Mr. Crosby did his best to raise the additional money needed toward the interest on the mortgage, and as a last resort he had to sell his mowing machine. How he would get along the following summer, without it, he did not know, but he hoped better times would come. At any rate it was imperative that he have the interest, or he might lose his farm.

It was coming on cool weather. The last of the crops had been gathered in, though in this work the farmer sadly missed the help of his two sturdy boys.

One frosty morning, he got up early to go out and feed the pigs, on which he depended for his own pork, and which he hoped he would have enough of to sell at a profit. There was a curious silence in the pen, for, usually, the porkers were squealing from the first show of daylight until they received their breakfast.

"That's rather queer," said Mr. Crosby to himself, as he neared the pig-pen, with a pail of warm sour milk, which the porkers usually got first. "I wonder why they aren't squealing their heads off as they always are?"

When he got to the pen he saw the cause for the silence. Stretched out on the ground were six fine pigs, all dead.

"Well, if this isn't hard luck!" exclaimed the farmer, setting down the pail he had carried out. "And I counted on them to help us through the winter!"

He got over into the pen. There was no doubt about it. The pigs were dead, and valueless, as far as any use he could make of them was concerned.

He called in a neighbor, who knew something of animals, and this man said the pigs had probably eaten something that had not agreed with them, as there were no signs that they had been hurt. This view was generally accepted, when it became known what misfortune had visited Mr. Crosby, though no one could tell what had caused the death of the animals.

"Another heavy loss," mused Mr. Crosby that afternoon, as he got up from the dinner table. "I declare, I don't know what's going to happen! I've got the interest money, but I'm afraid I'll have to use part of that to live on, now that we won't have any pork to put away for the winter."

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Crosby, "troubles never come singly! We certainly are in hard luck, Enos."

"That's right," he admitted gloomily. "I don't know what to do. But there, Debby," he added, as he saw how badly his wife felt. "We'll make out somehow. We always have. I can let the interest go, and we can sell out the farm."

"No, don't do that," exclaimed his wife quickly. "We must hold on to that. It's the only way we can make a living. I don't know anything except farming, and you don't either."

"That's right, unless I could learn gold mining," admitted Mr. Crosby with a sad smile. "But we'll get along somehow."

How he didn't know, but he knew he must not let his wife worry, as she was not strong, and had only recently gotten over a severe illness.

"Maybe I could help you, papa," spoke Nettie, who had listened with some worriment to the talk of her parents.

"You, my dear girl? How could you help us?"

"Why, I hear they want girls to work at the machines in the mill over at Rossmore."

"I'll never consent to let you go there," said her father. "We'll sell the farm first. Not that there's anything wrong about a girl working in a mill, but I want you to get a good education. No, Nettie, I'll find a way, somehow."

"Whoa!" exclaimed a voice out in the driveway, and, looking out, the farmer saw a man in a carriage.

"Are you there, Mr. Crosby?" the man called.

"Oh, yes! How d'ye do, Mr. Jimson?" replied the farmer, as he recognized the man who held the mortgage on the farm. "I see you've come for the interest."

"Yes. I hope you have it ready."

"Yes, it's all together. But I guess I'll have to ask you to drive me over to the bank in Rossmore. My pigs all died this morning, and I was so put out I didn't get a chance to go over. The money's there in the bank."

"Is your interest money in the bank at Rossmore?" asked Mr. Jimson, in a curious voice.

"Yes. Why?"

"That bank failed yesterday," was the startling answer. "The depositors won't get a cent!"

CHAPTER XXIV
LOSING THE FARM

Hardly able to believe what he heard, Mr. Crosby stared at his informant.

"Wha – what's that you said?" he asked.

"I said the bank at Rossmore failed yesterday, and that none of the depositors will get a cent. If you had your money there it's all gone."

"Gone! Failed! I – I don't understand."

"Well, it's just as I'm telling you. The cashier skipped off with the money."

"With my money?"

"With everybody's money. But I got ahead of them. I heard the bank was shaky and I drew out every cent I had there a couple of days ago. You see, the cashier took the cash about a week back, but he concealed his theft. Then, when the bank officials discovered it, they kept it quiet for a time, hoping to make it up. But, it seems, one of the vice-presidents was in with the cashier, and what the fellow didn't steal the vice-president had used in bad speculations, so the bank's wrecked."

"And my money's gone," repeated Mr. Crosby, in a dazed voice.

"I'm afraid so."

"What's happened? What's the matter, Enos?" asked Mrs. Crosby, who came out on the porch where Mr. Jimson was. She had not heard all he said, but she gathered that there was some trouble.

"We're ruined, Debby!" exclaimed the farmer. "All our money in the bank is gone!"

"Gone?"

"Yes, the bank has failed. I'm sorry, Mr. Jimson, but I can't pay you the interest," went on Mr. Crosby. "I intended going to Rossmore to-day to get it for you. Now I can't."

"I don't know about that," replied the holder of the mortgage on the Crosby farm. "I don't see what the failure of the bank has to do with you not paying me my interest."

"Why, I can't pay it if there isn't any money in the bank."

"I have nothing to do with that. I loaned you a certain sum on this farm. You signed a paper agreeing to pay me my interest at a certain time. That time has come and I want my money."

"But I can't pay you if the bank has failed."

"I tell you that has nothing to do with me!" exclaimed Mr. Jimson angrily. "I want my money – that's all. How am I to know you had the interest in the bank?"

"But I tell you I did!"

"Humph! A man's word isn't good for much nowadays. I want my interest, and I intend to have it."

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Jimson," said Mr. Crosby in a strained voice, "but I haven't got it."

"Then you'll have to get it. Take it from some other bank."

"Do I look like a man who had money in two banks?" demanded the poor farmer. "I guess not! It takes all I can rake and scrape to make a living and pay the interest. I put the money for the mortgage in the bank where it would be safe. I didn't know the bank would fail."

"Well, you'll have to get it somewhere," went on the mortgage holder. "Sell some of your things, or – or something."

"I haven't much left to sell – unless I sell myself, and I'm pretty much of a slave the way it is."

"Huh! Any man who can afford to send his sons out West on a pleasure trip ought to have the money to pay his interest," retorted Mr. Jimson.

"My sons did not go on a pleasure trip," answered Mr. Crosby. "They went to hunt for gold."

"And a mighty foolish excursion it was, too. Why didn't you send them to hunt for the fairy bag of gold at the foot of the rainbow? There would have been about as much sense in it."

"They went with an experienced miner, Mr. Jimson. Besides, my boys had earned a vacation."

"Oh, they had, eh? Then why don't they send back some gold nuggets? Why don't they pay the interest?"

"They would if they could. Can't you wait a few weeks? I may be able to get it together again. Or the officers may catch that cashier and get some of the money back."

"I'll not wait one day. As for catching that cashier, I don't believe they'll do it. The money is gone. You know what the agreement is in the mortgage. Either you pay up my interest the day it is due, or take the consequences."

"And what are the consequences?" asked Mrs. Crosby, who had been an anxious listener to this conversation.

"The farm will be sold," replied Mr. Jimson. "That is my right and privilege. All I get above the amount of the mortgage and the sheriff's fee will go to you, of course, but I don't imagine it will be much. Now I haven't any time to stand here talking to you. Have you my interest? Yes or no. To-day is the day it's due."

"I'm sorry, but I haven't got it," replied Mr. Crosby.

"All right; then I'll instruct the sheriff to sell the farm."

"Oh, you wouldn't do that, would you?" exclaimed Mrs. Crosby.

"Of course I will. Why not? That's business. I don't lend money for fun. You'd better get ready to move. Maybe you can go out West and dig gold." And with that mean reminder Mr. Jimson drove off.

The misfortune was such a terrible one that at first the Crosby family could hardly realize it. They were stunned. But it was not long before they awoke to a realization of what it meant.

Mr. Crosby tried in vain to raise the money, so unexpectedly lost, to pay the interest. He could borrow from no one, as he had nothing he could offer as security. He had a small sum put away for the needs of the winter, but this he knew it would be unsafe to touch.

So a few days after the visit of Mr. Jimson, notices were put up on the house, barn and other buildings of the farm, stating that they would be sold at public auction, under foreclosure proceedings, because the interest on the mortgage was unpaid.

And some time later that sad event happened. Quite a crowd of farmers gathered at the Crosby farm to bid on it. It was a good piece of land, but times were dull, and when all expenses had been met, including the mortgage, interest and sheriff's fees, there was only a few hundred dollars left for Mr. Crosby, his wife and daughter. Most of their possessions had been sold, as a chattel mortgage had been given as a last resort to raise the cash for the interest.

"And this is what I have left after twenty years of hard work," said Mr. Crosby sadly when the auction was over and he had received the few hundred dollars.

CHAPTER XXV
THE WELCOME LETTER – CONCLUSION

"Well, what are we going to do now?" asked Mrs. Crosby as a little later she, with her husband and daughter, sat in their desolate home.

"We've got to do something," replied Mr. Crosby. "I've got to make a new start, I suppose, and it comes hard at my time of life."

"Let me help, daddy," said Nettie, putting her arm around her father's neck. "I heard of a good place in the woolen mill. I can earn four dollars a week."

"Not while I have health and strength," replied Mr. Crosby. "We'll manage to make out somehow," he added more cheerfully, for now that the worst had happened, he was ready to face anything.

"The boys ought to know about this," said Mrs. Crosby. "Maybe they have found a gold mine and can help us."

"Not much chance of that," responded her husband. "But I would like to hear from them. We haven't had a letter since they got to the mountains, and the last time they wrote they were about to start for Dizzy Gulch. We can't expect any help from them, but perhaps they will want to come back, now that we have lost our farm. Probably we three can get work on some place – enough to earn a living, anyhow."

"It will seem strange to be working for some one else, when you have had your own farm so many years," said Mrs. Crosby.

"A man's farm isn't very much his when there's a mortgage on it. Never again will I try to live under such conditions. Why, I feel almost happy, now that I know there is no interest to meet. We will go somewhere else and begin life over again."

"Yes, and we've got to go somewhere to-night," added Nettie with a laugh, the first real one since their misfortune. "We have no beds here – nearly everything was sold. What are we going to do, daddy – sleep in the barn, in the hay? Do you suppose the sheriff would let us?"

"No need for that," replied her father. "We'll go to the hotel to-night. In the morning I will consider matters, and decide what is best to do. But I think I'll write a letter to the boys and tell them the bad news as gently as possible. Have you their address, Nettie?"

"Yes, father, but I imagine they must be in the mountains now."

"Well, mail will probably be forwarded. I'll ask them if they made out any worse with their gold hunting than I did with my farming."

But though he made light of it, Mr. Crosby was a man broken in spirit. Through no fault of his own he found himself, in the decline of life, with hardly enough to live on half a year, and no prospects of anything better. Still he did not despair.

The little family went to the village hotel that evening. Many of their neighbors, who sympathized with them, invited them to share their homes, but Mr. Crosby thought it would be less embarrassing for his wife and daughter if they went to the hotel.

It was on the way there that Mr. Hayson, the village postmaster, stopped Mr. Crosby on the street.

"Sorry to hear of your bad luck," he said.

"It might have been worse," replied Mr. Crosby.

"Yes, but not much. I was on my way over to your place. I got a special-delivery letter for you, but as I didn't have anybody I could send with it, and as you didn't call, I had to keep it until I closed the office up. Here it is," and he drew from his pocket a rather soiled envelope with a blue stamp thereon.

"Must have come a good way," remarked the postmaster. "I couldn't make out where, the marks were so blurred."

"Why, it's Jed's writing!" exclaimed Mr. Crosby.

"Jed? Your son?"

"Yes. He and his brother are in the West looking for gold, but I don't suppose they'll find any."

Mr. Crosby opened the letter and rapidly read it. As he did so the expression on his face changed. The look of care seemed to disappear, and his eyes brightened.

"Looks as if it was good news," observed Mr. Hayson, who was an old acquaintance.

"It is. Read that."

Mr. Hayson rapidly glanced down the page. Some of the news which Jed wrote was unimportant, but this much seemed to stand out in bold relief:

"We have struck a bonanza! One of the richest mines in the West! Will and I are rich! Sell out and come on. We have staked claims for the whole family!

"Jed."

"Well, of all things! Who'd have believed it! A bonanza! Gold mines! Them boys rich!" exclaimed Mr. Hayson. "What are you going to do, neighbor Crosby?"

"Do? Why, I'm going out there as fast as a train can take me. Sell out! I don't have to wait to sell out. I'm sold out already. But I must hurry and tell my wife and daughter. This is the best news I've had in many a year. The boys have struck it rich. Things looked pretty black a little while ago, but this welcome letter has changed everything. God bless Gabe Harrison! I guess he must have had a hand in this."

Three weeks later, when Mr. Crosby, his wife and daughter reached the new diggings where Jed, Will and the old miner were, they learned all the details of the wonderful strike.

For the mine, or rather mines, as there were several of them, were indeed bonanzas. The good luck of Jed and Will, which began when they found the nuggets, continued, and every claim staked out was a rich one.

A regular gold-mining company was formed, taking over the temporary one started by Jed and the other miners, and the Crosby family were the principal holders of the stock. Machinery was installed, and at last accounts the concern was paying better than ever.

One day Gabe, who made his home with the Crosby family, came in looking quite pleased over something.

"What's the matter?" asked Jed. "Have you found some more nuggets?"

"No, but almost as good. That gambler, Con Morton, has been arrested, and I understand I am likely to get back most of the property out of which he swindled me."

A few weeks later this occurred, and though Gabe did not regain all of his fortune, he had enough to live on in comfort. Morton was sentenced to a long term in prison. His two cronies disappeared, and were never heard of in that region again.

As for Jed and Will, those plucky lads who graduated from a farm to a gold claim, they are now among the most prosperous and best known miners of the West, and if you are ever out that way I advise you to call on them. Perhaps they will show you where to pick up a small nugget or two as a souvenir of your visit.

THE END