No one in the farmhouse slept that night. Mrs. Upton sat by her husband’s side, and Jerry came and went, ready to do anything that might be asked of him.
Two days later the doctor pronounced the wounded man out of danger. But his injuries were severe, and it would be a long while before Mr. Upton would be able to go around as before.
His enforced idleness made the farmer fret a good deal. It was true that the harvest work on the farm was over, but he had wished to do much more.
“And I reckon that trip to New York is now out of the question,” Jerry heard him say to Mrs. Upton.
“Why, father, were you going to New York?” asked the boy, in much curiosity.
“I had an idea that way, son,” returned Mr. Upton, slowly. “I was going on business,” he added, after a pause.
At this Jerry was more curious than ever. New York was over two hundred miles from Lakeview, and he had never heard of his parent having business in the metropolis.
“You see it’s this way, Jerry,” said Mr. Upton, noticing his look. “When your uncle Charley died he left all his property to me. Some time ago I was cleaning out one of his old trunks and I ran across some deeds to property in California. From what I can make out the land must be nigh to the city of Sacramento.”
“And the property belongs to you?” cried Jerry.
“No, I can’t say that exactly. As near as I can figure it, your uncle Charley owned an interest in it. The property was in the hands of a land boomer named Alexander Slocum, and there was a letter in the trunk from this Alexander Slocum which was dated from New York. I think this boomer holds other papers relating to the land, and I was thinking of making a trip to New York and hunting him up, if he is still there.”