SEEKING A JOB
From Piddock, where Fred lived, to New Strike was about eight miles, over the mountains. It was a hard journey, but the boy set off on it with a light heart, whistling merrily, for he was hopeful of getting a job, and he knew that if he did, there would be more happiness at home, since there was a dire shortage of money.
"I ought to get at least five dollars a week and my board," thought Fred. "If I do, I can save nearly four and send it home, and that will help out a lot. Poor dad, it's hard for him to be crippled the way he is. And I wish mother didn't have to work so hard. She is getting more gray than she ought to. I wish there was some work in Piddock. If I get a job over here I'll have to stay all the week, and can only go home Saturday night. But there's not much doing in Piddock."
This was true. The town had once been quite an important one, but the diggings near it had been exhausted, and the mining population had, in a large part, moved away. There were some mines in the vicinity, that were still worked, but they did not pay very well.
Shortly after Mr. Stanley's accident Fred had secured a place in the general store in Piddock, but, when the population diminished there was hardly enough work for the proprietor himself, and he had to discharge Fred, though he regretted it, for the boy was bright and quick, and a great help to him.
After that Fred tried in vain to get a steady position. He worked for a few days driving a team for a man, and occasionally did odd jobs for one of the merchants in town, or for some of the residents, but the pay was poor, and he seldom had three full days' work a week.
He had heard of the unexpected prosperity that had come to New Strike, and, knowing that there is usually plenty of work in a new mining camp, he determined to go there and see what he could find.
As Fred reached the mountain trail, leading to New Strike, he saw that it had been well traveled. On both sides of the narrow road were evidences that many teams had passed that way recently, for the refuse of camp stuff, broken boxes and barrels, and things that the miners had thrown away as useless, littered the ground.
As Fred made a turn in the road, he saw, just ahead of him, an old man, mounted on a small donkey. The man's legs were so long, and the donkey so little, that the rider's shoes nearly touched the ground.
Either the animal was lazy, or it was unable to carry the load on its back,—for the man had a big bundle on the saddle before him,—and the donkey went at a very slow pace. So slow, in fact, that Fred soon caught up to the rider.
"Good-morning," the boy said.
"Ah, stranger, good-morning," was the man's answer. "I see you are headed for the same place I am."
"I don't know whether it's the same place or not, but I'm going to New Strike," said Fred.
"So am I, if this donkey lasts the trip out. He's awful slow, stranger. What might your name be?"
"Fred Stanley."
"Where you from?"
"Piddock."
"Hum. Well I'm Bill Gardner. Old Bill Gardner, they mostly calls me."
"And where are you from?" asked Fred, thinking it only polite to manifest some interest in the rider.
"Me? Oh, I ain't from nowhere in particular. I make my home wherever I happen to drop my pick and shovel. I'm a prospector," and Fred noticed that, in addition to his bundle, the old man had a set of mining tools.
"Are you going to locate at New Strike?" asked Fred.
"That's what I am. I heard there was some rich pockets there, and I want to get my share. G'lang there, you jack rabbit!" and the man jerked the donkey's reins.
"That's a queer name for a donkey," commented Fred.
"Well, this is a queer donkey. I call him a jack rabbit because he's so different. He wouldn't jump if you fired a cannon off right under him."
"Did you ever try it?"
"No, but he stood right near a blast one day, when it went off before I was ready for it, and all he done was to wiggle one ear a bit, as though a fly had bit him. Oh, he's the slowest donkey I ever saw, and I've seen some pretty lazy ones. But do you expect to do any prospecting in New Strike? Where's your outfit?"
"I haven't any."
"Guess you'll find it pretty hard to pick up one in the camps. Every man'll want his own."
"Oh, I don't expect to look for gold."
"What are you going to look for then?"
"A job. I heard they wanted drivers for the ore carts at the stamp mills, and I thought I might fill the bill."
"I guess you could, if the places aren't all taken. But, why don't you try mining?"
"I don't believe I'm old enough."
"Oh, yes, you are. I came to California, 'way back in '49, when I was only a boy, and I've been mining ever since."
"My father was a miner," said Fred.
"Was he? What's his name?"
"Norman Stanley."
"What! Norman Stanley, who used to work in the Eagle's Claw mine?"
"Yes," replied the boy, who had often heard his father speak of the mine mentioned.
"Well, well! I know him like a brother. Just tell him you met old Bill Gardner, and he'll remember me all right."
"I will."
"And I'll speak a good word for you when we get to the new diggings," went on the old man. "I know every miner in these parts worth knowing. G'lang there, Kangaroo."
"I thought you said the donkey's name was Jack Rabbit."
"No, that's not his name. You see I call him something different every time."
"Why?" inquired Fred.
"Well, I think one name gets sort of tiresome for an animal. And then I think, if I call him a different name every time, he'll think maybe I'm somebody else, and he'll go faster. He knows me so well he won't pay any attention to me, and he knows I won't hit him. But if I call him a different name, he may think there's a different man on his back, and he may run a bit."
"He doesn't seem to be going to."
"No, I guess not. G'lang there, Hippopotamus!"
That name seemed to have no effect, either, and, with an exclamation of disgust, the old miner settled back in the saddle and let the donkey take its own time.
Fred found he could easily keep up with the small animal, and the miner chatted pleasantly until they came to New Strike. Then, at the suggestion of Mr. Gardner, the boy went to the superintendent of the stamp mills, to apply for a job.
"Let me know how you make out," said the miner, as he was about to part from the boy.
"Where will I find you?"
"Oh, I'm going to put up at the hotel. There's only one, so you won't have much trouble finding me. Just ask for Old Bill Gardner, and anybody'll point me out. Well, good luck."
"Thank you," answered Fred, as he started toward the stamping mills, the thundering noise of which could be heard for a long distance.
"Well, what can I do for you?" asked the superintendent sharply, as Fred entered the office.
"Do you want any boys to drive ore carts? I heard you did."
"We did, but we filled the last place about an hour ago."
Fred's heart sank. If he had been a little earlier, or if he had started sooner, he might now have had a good job.
"Is there anything else to do around here?" he asked. "I would be glad to get work of any kind."
"I'm afraid I haven't anything for any one as young as you."
"I am quite strong, though I am only seventeen years old."
"Yes, I must admit you seem a sturdy lad, but, I am sorry to say, I can't give you any work. If you leave your name and address I'll send for you, when there is anything."
"Thank you," replied Fred, and he wrote them on a piece of paper the manager gave him.
"If you were a man now, I could give you work in the mine. But I can't put boys in there. Have you had any experience in mining?"
"No, but I know something about it from hearing my father tell about it. He is a miner."
"What is his name?"
Fred told him, and found that, while the manager did not know Mr. Stanley, he had heard of him.
"I wish, for your father's sake, I could give you work," he said. "I'll keep you in mind, and you shall have the first job that is open."
"Thank you. I shall try some other places here."
"I would, if I were you, and you can refer to me."
"That is very kind of you."
Fred bade the manager good-morning, and started off to see if there was not work elsewhere for him. But he found that either all the places were filled, or that, when there was work, it was of such a nature that he could not do it.
Somewhat discouraged, he sat down in a shady place to eat his simple lunch, and, after a drink from a spring, he felt refreshed.
Early that afternoon he had exhausted the possibilities of work in New Strike.
"I think I'll start back home," he said. "There's no use bothering to look up Mr. Gardner."
The truth was he disliked to tell the old miner he had not succeeded in getting work. So Fred started off on his long tramp back to Piddock.
But, as he was passing along the main, and, in truth, the only street of the town, a voice hailed him.
"Hold on there, Fred," was the cry, and he turned to see the old miner beckoning to him, from in front of the "Imperial Hotel," as a sign in front of the one-storied building indicated it to be. "Wait a minute. I want to speak to you!"