But then how much gold there was yet in California, and every one said they had had wonderful luck. Now he was here, wouldn’t it be best to stay and work another season, and go home rich! How the people would look up to him, and mother could have the whole farm. He might as well after all that trouble!
It was a dazzling temptation, home and love, comfort and peace,—balanced against the chances of being rich while yet a boy; and a long life of ease and prosperity before him! His step became slower—it was very hard to decide. How much more he could do for the girls, the tempter said, putting on the most generous disguise; and his mother should live without having to lift her hands to work. Once more his mother stood between him and an evil choice. How often had she told him, that industry made people happy, not idleness; that it kept away bad thoughts, and left no time for them to grow into bad actions. She would never be satisfied to fold her hands, and live a useless life. He knew that if she could read what was going on in his mind, she would not think he ought even to hesitate. God had so far taken care of him, and prospered him, because he was doing his duty. That duty was over now, and another,—to return to the mother who had so unselfishly devoted him to it, and make her happy,—came plainly before him.
Yes, he had decided, he would go home. The empty tent seemed to send a chill over him, as he went into it. The silence spoke louder than words, that his father was gone for ever. The gold he had hoarded was useless now, it could not purchase even one hour’s consciousness at the last, to send messages of love to his family, to ask the pardon of Heaven for a misspent life. It was a mute commentary on the fearful question—
What shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?
Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?
Something like a dim understanding of this came into his son’s mind, as he stooped down to scrape away the sand from under the edge of the tent, where his father had concealed his gains. It was a precaution very few of the miners took, and the strangest thing in all their peculiar life was, perhaps, the respect they all observed towards any thing claimed by another person. No matter how high a price was paid for the common, indispensable tools and cooking utensils, or how much a man might be in want of them, the owner could leave his claim for days, and come back to find them untouched. So with the gold. It was often only rolled up in their blankets, or left in some cup or pan, unguarded, except by the strict law, made and enforced among themselves. Death was usually the instant and only penalty, before the Californians could claim the protection of State laws.
Colcord’s thoroughly mean, avaricious disposition would not trust to this, and Mr. Gilman, growing more miserly every day after he left, went on concealing the gold, in the same way. Sam had never even disturbed it before, but he saw his father lift out the old broken kettle, and pass the shining scales through his hands, only the night before he was taken sick. It yielded readily to his grasp, for it was scarcely covered by the light soil. Sam would have noticed that the sand was smoothed less carefully than usual by the sick man’s tremulous hands, before this, but Mr. Gilman always laid down by his treasure, and one corner of the blanket had covered the place till now. No matter—all precaution was useless—it was empty!
Sam could not believe the gold was all gone at first. He thought it might have been hidden in the sand, or thrown out accidentally, and mixed with it. He snatched up the knife again, and dug down deeper still, but a few scattering flakes was all he found. His father’s ravings about its being stolen flashed across his mind; but he knew that was only the wildness of fever, for he had seen it put there himself. Suddenly he noticed that the knife he still held was not his own, or his father’s. He had found it lying there, and he had seen it before. He knew it in a moment, and could have sworn to it in any court in the land. The short, slightly curved blade, the extreme point snapped off,—the heavy bone handle,—he had seen Colcord display and boast of that knife too often, not to know it again. He recollected the stealthy footsteps and the man’s shadow the night before, at the same instant. Colcord must have heard that his father could not live, and he knew only too well where to find all they possessed. Sam felt that he had slept nearly an hour, for he remembered the moon was almost down when he roused himself, and in this time, not content with living ruin, Colcord had robbed the dead!
Mr. Gilman’s ravings had been a prophecy. “It was all gone,” every dollar, and with it the bright pictures of home and a comfortable independence. Sam felt this with a dreadful heart-sinking, as he dropped the knife and rushed out upon the beach. His first impulse was to call out his loss, and pursue the thief. No one was near him at the moment, and he remembered how many hours Colcord had been gone, and what would be his fate if he was overtaken by these unscrupulous dealers of justice, the miners.