“No, sir. I ran away. But I’ve got enough and when I reach home I’m going to stay there.”
“Well, you’d better,” approved Mr. Baxter. “You’re too young to be out here alone.”
“I guess I am,” admitted the little fellow. “Life out here is fierce unless you’re used to it.”
“How are the diggin’s?” queried Davy, eagerly.
“Forty miles into the mountains—and then always a little farther,” asserted the young fellow. “If you can stick it out and don’t freeze to death or starve to death you may make a few hundred dollars—and you may not. Did you ever mine?”
“No,” said Davy, and Mr. Baxter shook his head, smiling.
“Then you’re tenderfeet like I am. That’s the trouble in there. Half the people don’t know how to find gold and the other half don’t know it when they do find it. It’s fierce, I tell you. I’m bound home, busted. I had to walk in, fifty miles; but I’ve earned just enough to take me through to the Missouri.”
“How?” asked Davy.
“Sweeping out for one of the gambling houses,” and with a gesture of disgust the slender youngster turned away.
Mr. Baxter watched him a moment.