The Cave of Gold
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Everett McNeil >> The Cave of Gold
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The steward wrote for a minute or so on a little pad of paper; and then,
tearing off a sheet, handed it to Thure. It was the bill for their
breakfast and read:
4 fried eggs $6.00
1 leg of mutton (with potatoes) 2.25
1 leg of veal (with potatoes) 2.25
2 cups of coffee (with milk) 1.50
Bread (with butter) for two 2.00
2 pieces of pie 1.50
------
Total $15.50
"Great Moses!" and Thure stared in the utmost astonishment at the piece
of paper he held in his hand, "does this mean that we are to pay Fifteen
Dollars and a Half for what we have just eaten?"
"Yes," smiled the steward, who had evidently been a lawyer before he
became a steward, "fifteen dollars and fifty cents is all. Eggs and
butter came down a little to-day; and we always give our patrons the
benefit of a fall in prices at once. You will see that your bill is
correct by glancing at the prices on the bill-of-fare."
Thure transferred his stare, for a moment, to the face of the smiling
steward; and then, picking up the bill-of-fare, he saw that the prices
were correct, and paid the bill.
"I see that you have already found your goldmine," he remarked, as he
handed the cashier the money.
"And without digging in mud and gravel for the gold," the cashier
replied, with a grin and a wink. "But, there is not as much gold in it
as you might think. Now, how much do you suppose those eggs cost me a
dozen?" and he pointed to the egg item on the bill-of-fare.
"Never sold any," smiled back Thure. "We always gave them away."
"Huh! I'll take a car load at that price. Now, them identical eggs that
you ate this morning cost me at the rate of Thirteen Dollars and
Seventy-five cents a dozen, wholesale! I reckon you are new to the
diggings, or you would know that prices on everything have gone soaring
up like skyrockets," and the cashier, who happened also to be the
proprietor, threw up both hands despairingly toward the ceiling. "Say,
what do you suppose I have to pay the fellow who washes the dishes?
Seventy-five Dollars a week and keep! And the cook, Mother of men! he
gets One Hundred and Eighty-five Dollars a week! Got to pay it, or
they'll go to the diggings."
"Excuse me," broke in Bud, who at this moment suddenly thought that no
one would be apt to know more about the goings and the comings of the
miners, than the hotelkeeper, himself. "But, do you happen to know of
any miners in town who are going to Hangtown? We expect to find our dads
there; and want to get away from here as soon as we can."
"Now," and the broad forehead wrinkled, "let me think. Sure!" and the
wrinkles vanished. "Yankee Tom and his company were to start for
Hangtown this morning; and, I reckon, if you hustle, you can yet get to
them before they start. You see--"
"Where'll we find them?" broke in Thure eagerly. He was too anxious to
be off to care to listen longer to the talkative landlord.
"See that big sycamore over yonder?" and the landlord pointed through
the open door to where a giant tree lifted its head far above its
surroundings.
"Yes."
"Well, Yankee Tom's camp is under that tree. Just head for that tree,
and you will sure hit his camp, if he is still there; but you'd better
hustle," and the landlord turned to attend to other guests.
Thure and Bud at once hurried out to where they had left their horses;
and were soon mounted and hastening toward the big tree. Their route,
for a short distance, lay through a very busy street, with shops of all
kinds and innumerable gambling--and drinking-hells on both sides. Great
crowds of men were hurrying in and out of these places; and the street
was so jammed with wagons and horses and mules and oxen and men that
Thure and Bud found considerable difficulty in making their way through
it.
"No more hotel eating for me," declared Thure, with a grimace, as they
made their way as speedily as possible through this crowded street. "A
Dollar and a Half for an Egg! But won't mother's eyes open when she
hears that?"
"Well, eggs are not the only things that are high. Just look at that
sign there," and Bud pointed to a large sign in front of one of the
stores, on which the storekeeper had recorded the day's bargains. The
sign read:
THE BEST AND THE CHEAPEST PLACE
TO BUY YOUR OUTFITS A FEW OF TO-DAY'S SPECIAL BARGAINS THAT CANT BE
BEAT ANYWHERE IN THE CITY
Best flour ten pounds for only $15.00
Rice, five pounds for only 5.00
Potatoes, a heaped-up bushel, only 35.00
Good butter only 2.00 per pound
Barley only 1.00 per quart
Best white beans only 6.50
Candles only 1.00 each.
Best Salaratus only 14.50 per pound
Hip boots, warranted waterproof 100.00
Pair of pantaloons, good quality 36.00
Sugar--good--only 2.00 per pound
Coffee, five pounds for 9.00
Good picks, shovels, tin-pans at only 57.00 each.
"Whew!" and Thure drew in a long breath, when he had finished reading
the sign. "It's lucky we brought our outfits along with us, or we'd be
bankrupt before we could get out of Sacramento City. Well, those prices
certainly prove that the gold is here. Nobody could live if it wasn't.
And, when you stop to think that most of the stuff has to be brought
thousands of miles and then packed for some two hundred miles more into
a roadless wilderness, the prices don't look so high--Well, what's the
rumpus now?" and Thure whirled partly around on his horse to look back
to where a huge red-headed man had suddenly jumped up on top of a barrel
in front of one of the stores, and was yelling something, just what he
could not understand, and pointing excitedly in his direction.
A sound, like a growl from the throats of a hundred angry wolves, went
up from the surrounding crowd, and a great wave, headed by the
red-headed man, rolled threateningly toward the two wondering boys.
"What--what can be the trouble?" and Bud turned an anxious face to
Thure. "They look mad; and they are coming straight toward us! What can
have happened? Who are they after?" and he looked confusedly around.
"Pull them off their horses!"
"Hang them!"
"The murderers!"
The air was now filled with these and similar dreadful cries and men
came running toward them from all directions; and, before the two boys
could fairly realize what was happening, they found themselves the
center of a seething crowd of excited and angry men, while a hundred
armed hands were lifted threateningly toward them.
"God in heaven, they are after us!" and Thure, too utterly astounded for
the moment to realize the terrible nature of their situation, stared
wildly into the surrounding angry faces. "What--what--"
But, before he could put his stammering dumbfounded query, strong hands
seized and jerked him roughly from his horse, while other hands at the
same moment jerked Bud off his horse. One of the men who seized and
pulled Thure from his horse was the big red-headed man, who had jumped
up on top of the barrel and who had led the rush against the two boys.
The moment Thure looked into his face he started back in horror. The man
had a broken nose!
At this moment and before either boy had collected his startled wits
sufficiently to even offer a protest or to demand what this rough laying
on of hands meant, a big man drove, like a sharpened wedge, through the
crowd, and halted, with a hand tightly gripping the coat collar of each
terrified lad.
"What is the trouble?" he demanded authoritatively. "What have the young
men done?"
"The sheriff!" yelled someone in the crowd. "It's Turner, the sheriff!"
"Yes, it's Turner, the sheriff," and the man tightened his grips on
Thure's and Bud's collars. "Hands off. They are my prisoners now," and
he turned a bit impatiently to the men, whose hands still had hold of
the boys. "Well, what have they done?"
"Murder!" "Murder!" yelled a dozen voices from the crowd.
"Why, they are little more than boys!" and the sheriff turned his eyes
in astonished horror on Thure and Bud. "Who accuses them?"
"Me an' my pard do," and the big red-headed man with a broken nose, who
had let go of Thure the moment the sheriff had him safely by the collar,
stepped up in front of Turner. "We accuses them of murderin' an' robbin'
John Stackpole, an old miner, who was on his way tew San Francisco from
th' diggin's; an' what's more, we saw 'em do it with our own eyes; an'
are ready tew swear tew th' same afore any judge an' jury. Ain't we
Spike?" and he turned to a small man, with a pockmarked face, who was
standing close to Bud.
"True as preachin'," declared the small man. "With my own eyes I saw 'em
knock th' miner off his hoss with their guns, an' then jump on him, an'
run a knife through his heart, an' jerk off his gold-belt, an'--"
"You lie!" and the hard fist of Bud's sturdy right arm landed squarely
on the chin of the man, with such force that he was knocked backward,
senseless, into the arms of a man standing behind him. "You and
Brokennose killed him yourselves. We--"
"Shut up!" and the sheriff whirled Bud violently around in front of him.
"Now, young man, another move like that and I will put you in irons.
Here, Dave," and he turned to a roughly dressed miner standing near,
"just pull their teeth, while I hold them. They're beginning to look
some rambunctuous."
And, indeed, Thure and Bud did look "rambunctuous"; for by now both boys
were beginning to get an inkling of the game that was being played on
them by the two scoundrels. But, what could they do? Everything had
happened so suddenly and unexpectedly, that they were in the hands of
the sheriff before either of them had recovered his wits sufficiently to
even open his mouth in protest or defense.
"Quiet, quiet," cautioned the roughly dressed miner, whom the sheriff
had summoned to his aid, in a low voice, as he swiftly pulled the boys'
knives and pistols from their belts. "Don't let your tempers git tew
buckin'. You're a sight better off in th' hands of th' sheriff, who will
see that you git a fair trial, than you would be in the hands of the
mob, who sometimes string a feller up first an' try him afterwards."
Thure and Bud promptly saw the wisdom of this counsel and allowed the
miner to disarm them without protest.
"Now, Dave, I'll make you my deputy until this little matter is settled.
Bring along the animals and I'll see that these two young--" The sheriff
paused and looked curiously into the faces of Thure and Bud. "I'll be
hanged, if you look much like murderers!" he declared frankly.
"Howsomever, I am not the judge; and you can't always tell whether or
not a dog has got fleas by his looks."
"We are innocent, absolutely innocent," began Thure excitedly. "We did
not kill the old miner. We--"
"Save your talk," broke in the sheriff good-naturedly, glancing sharply
into the boy's face, "for the trial. I'll see that you get a fair trial;
and that's all that I can do. Now, you two men that make this accusation
of murder against the prisoners, come along," and he glanced keenly at
the two men.
Brokennose still stood near Thure; and the one called Spike had
recovered sufficiently from his contact with Bud's fist to stand glaring
at Bud, with an ugly scowl on his pock-marked face.
"Where are you goin' tew take 'em?" he demanded. "This ain't no jail
case. We wants them tried immejiate. Thar ain't no need of lawyers an'
jedges tew mix things up. We seed 'em kill th' miner, an' are willin'
tew swear tew it, an' that otter be enough tew have 'em danglin' by
their necks inside of half an hour."
"They'll dangle, when they've been proven guilty, according to the laws
of this city; and not before," answered the sheriff dryly. "We'd give a
dog a fair trial in this town before we'd hang him. Come, you can tell
your stories to the alcalde," and, still keeping a tight grip on the
collars of Thure and Bud, he started down the street toward the office
of the alcalde, before whom all criminal cases were tried, followed by
Dave, the miner, with the horses of the boys, their two accusers, and
the crowd, which had made no move to dispute the authority of the
sheriff, although a little growling had been done. They knew that they
would not have long to wait. California justice in those days in the
mining towns and camps was sudden.
CHAPTER IX
THE TESTIMONY OF BILL UGGER
Sacramento City at that date had a rude but effective government of its
own. An alcalde and other city officers had been elected; and certain
unwritten laws, for the protection of life and property, had been
promulgated and were strictly enforced. Lynching, in the sense that we
know it to-day, was almost unknown. There were no disorderly mobs, who,
under the spurs of their own brutal passions, strung up their victims
unheard and without even the semblance of a fair trial. Justice, if
sudden, was usually careful to see that it was justice and not brutality
that rendered the verdict. And yet, many of these early trials had the
outward semblance of lynching-bees in the swift severity of their
punishments. A murderer would be arrested, tried, convicted, and
decently hanged, all before sundown of the same day. The mob spirit was
there, but usually held in check by the sturdy manhood of the American
miners, who had nearly all come from law abiding and law respecting
communities.
This swift severity of Justice was, in a sense, compelled by the
unusual, the almost unprecedented conditions surrounding life in a city
born suddenly in a wilderness. There were few locks and bars and bolts,
or, even, doors, in Sacramento City at that time; and large sums in gold
and great values in goods were often left exposed and almost
unprotected. The thief, under such circumstances, had to be dealt with
severely and promptly; or the property of no one would be safe. There
were no regularly established courts in the city to try criminals, no
written code of laws to dictate methods of procedure, no court officials
to enforce mandates, and no safe jails in which to confine prisoners.
Under such circumstances the people had to form their own courts, make
their own laws, and see that they were enforced; or have no laws; and
the criminal had to be dealt with summarily. The thief was sometimes
whipped, or, even, cropped, that is his ears were cut off, and he was
always driven from the city, and warned not to come back under penalty
of death. The murderer, when proven guilty to the satisfaction of the
people, was always hanged. No prisoners were held. They were proven
guilty and sentence pronounced and executed at once; or they were set
free.
Such was Sacramento City in 1849, the Sacramento City in which Thure and
Bud now found themselves under arrest for the horrible crime of murder,
the most serious crime that can be charged against a human being
anywhere, but rendered especially serious in the present case by the
peculiar surrounding circumstances. In all the city, so far as either
boy knew, they did not have a friend, or even an acquaintance, who could
vouch for them--and yet, before the sun set that night, they must prove
themselves innocent of the crime charged, or, in all human probability,
be hanged!
The alcalde's office was small, only a few of the great crowd of men who
had followed the sheriff and his prisoners could get inside of it; and,
when the alcalde saw the size of the gathering outside of his office and
learned the serious nature of the charge against the two boys, he at
once ordered the "court" to be held under the big oak in the
horse-market, where there would be room for all to see and hear how
justice was dispensed. Accordingly all started at once for the
horse-market, situated near the bottom of K Street, where an immense
evergreen oak stood in the middle of the street, furnishing an agreeable
shade for many feet around and a fittingly picturesque scene for the
holding of such a trial as was about to take place.
The method of procedure, on arriving at the horse-market, was simple but
effective. The alcalde took his station near the trunk of the great oak,
and summoned the prisoners and their accusers before him, while the
crowd gathered in a grim and stern-faced circle around this improvised
courtroom.
"What is the crime the prisoners are charged with?" and the alcalde
turned to the sheriff.
"Murder!" answered the sheriff briefly.
"Who makes the accusation?"
"Those two men standing there," and the sheriff indicated the big
red-headed man with the broken nose and the small man with the
pock-marked face, who now stood just behind the sheriff and his two
prisoners.
"Stand forth by the side of the prisoners," commanded the alcalde.
The two men shuffled awkwardly forward and stood uneasily by the side of
Thure and Bud, their eyes shifting restlessly from the face of the
alcalde to the faces of the surrounding crowd.
For a couple or more minutes the alcalde studied the faces of the two
boys and the faces of their two accusers in silence. Evidently he was
endeavoring to form an opinion of the characters of the prisoners and
their accusers; but, what that opinion was, his face did not betray.
"Why do you accuse these two young men of murder?" and the alcalde
suddenly fixed his eyes upon the face of the man with a broken nose.
"Because I seen 'em do it," answered the man. "Me an' my pard, Spike,
seen 'em do it. Ask him," and he turned to the small man, who stood
close by his side.
"And you are both willing to make oath that you saw these two young men,
who are little more than boys, commit the awful crime of murder?" the
alcalde continued.
"Yes," promptly responded both men.
"Then, may God have mercy on your souls, if the accusations are false!
What have you to say to the accusation? Guilty; or, not guilty?" and the
alcalde turned abruptly to Thure and Bud.
"Not guilty," answered Thure, his face very white. "We--"
"That will do for the present," interrupted the alcalde. "Gentlemen, how
shall the case be tried?" and he turned to the surrounding crowd of
stern-faced men.
"Give 'em a jury, an' git a-goin'," called a rough voice impatiently.
"Do you wish a trial by jury?" and again the alcalde turned to Thure and
Bud.
"Yes," answered both boys.
"The trial will be by jury," announced the alcalde. "I summon to act as
this jury," and his eyes searched the circle of surrounding faces, as he
slowly called out the names of twelve men, who, as their names were
called, stepped forth and took their stations by the side of the alcalde
and in front of the prisoners and their accusers.
When the twelve jurymen had been selected, all were solemnly sworn by
the alcalde to render a true and just verdict, according to the evidence
presented; and the trial of Thure and Bud for the murder of John
Stackpole, the miner, was ready to begin.
During all this time Thure and Bud had been doing some very serious and
some very rapid thinking. At first the suddenness and the unexpectedness
of the rush of men upon them in the busy street, followed so swiftly by
their arrest and the dreadful accusations of the two men, whom they had
every reason to believe had committed the crime themselves, had almost
completely benumbed their faculties; but this condition of mind had
lasted only a short time, and long before they reached the place of
trial their minds were busy with the dreadful problem of how to prove
themselves innocent of the crime charged, when two men were ready to
swear that they saw them commit the crime, and when they did not have,
could not have, a single witness who could swear to the truthfulness of
their statements concerning the miner's death. No one but themselves had
seen him die; and, so far as they knew, no one but themselves and their
accusers knew the cause of his death. If they only had time to send
home--But, even if they had witnesses from home, what could they prove?
Only that the two boys had brought the dead miner home and had buried
him; and that would be no proof that they had not killed him and
invented the story of the two robbers.
True, on their side, they could accuse the two men of committing the
murder themselves; but they had no positive proofs that they were guilty
of the crime, only the description of his assailants given them by the
dying miner. There might be other men with broken noses and pock-marked
faces. All that they could swear to of their own knowledge was that one
of the men they had seen murdering the old miner was larger than the
other. They had not got near enough to the murderers to be able to
recognize them again, even if they should see them, except by the
description given by the murdered man. And for them to accuse the two
men, who had caused their arrest, of the murder, in itself would look
suspicious to those who did not know the real facts and would have a
tendency to make them doubt their whole story of the death of the miner.
Then there was another matter that troubled the two boys greatly. Why
had the two men accused them thus publicly of the murder of the miner?
Why had they run this risk of turning suspicion against themselves? They
must feel very certain that the "evidence" they would produce would
convict; or, they never would have dared to have chanced accusing them
of the crime; for their acquittal would be almost sure to turn suspicion
in their own direction. True, there was the skin map, and, possibly, the
accusation was some scheme to get the map into their possession; but,
how could their hanging bring this about? If they were hanged, the map
and its meaning would be almost sure to be made public; and then every
man in Sacramento City would have as good a chance of finding the Cave
of Gold as would the two scoundrels themselves, a condition of things
that both boys felt quite sure the two men were exceedingly anxious to
avoid, and the map itself would be almost certain to be kept from them.
Then, again, the possession of the skin map itself was the cause of the
gravest anxiety and dread. If they confessed to its possession it would
reveal to all the secret of the Cave of Gold, something that they were
almost ready to give their lives to prevent, and would not help their
case in the least. Indeed, under the circumstances it would, probably,
be considered the strongest possible circumstantial evidence of their
guilt.
But, what if the alcalde should order them searched and the map be
found? Or, what if the two men, becoming desperate, should ask that they
be searched, to see if anything that belonged to the miner could be
found in their possession, and the buckskin bag and the gold nugget and
the skin map should all be discovered in their place of concealment
under Thure's left shoulder?
When the two horns of a dilemma are both equally long and sharp, how,
then, can the peril be avoided?
Indeed, the longer and the closer Thure and Bud looked at their
situation, the more dreadful and impossible of remedy it appeared. How
could they prove their innocence, when they did not have a single
witness to appear in their defense? How could their youth and
inexperience, friendless and alone, hope to combat successfully with the
cunning and the experience of these two unprincipled men, who would stop
at nothing to accomplish their ends? But, they were not the kind of boys
to give up a fight for life, as long as they could strike back; and the
more difficult their situation appeared, the more grimly determined they
became to win out somehow, or, at least, to die fighting.
"Not a word of the skin map and the Cave of Gold," hastily warned Thure
in a whisper to Bud, as the alcalde, having completed the tale of the
jury, again turned to them. "Tell everything just as it happened, but
that. The telling of that would not help us a bit; and, if it were known
that we had a map and a gold nugget that had belonged to the miner, it
would look suspicious and might hurt us a lot; and we don't want to give
away the Cave of Gold, not if we can help it."
"Right," whispered back Bud. "It's got to be our word against the word
of those two cowardly villains, I reckon," and he glared furiously in
the direction of the two men. "We've just got to beat them some way,"
and his young face grew grim and stern.
By this time the jurymen had all seated themselves comfortably on the
ground on both sides of the alcalde, and were ready to hear the
testimony.
"You may step forward and be sworn," and the alcalde's eyes signaled out
the big man with a broken nose.
The man stepped up in front of the alcalde, who sat on a stump, with a
barrel standing on end in front of him and an old worn Bible lying on
top of the barrel.
"Hold up your right hand," commanded the alcalde, his keen eyes fixing
themselves sternly on the red, brutal face; "and repeat the oath after
me."
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