“Yes, and been robbed!”
“By Indians?”
“No; by white men!”
“I was served the same way,” said Chase, in alarm. “I hope they have gone away.”
“O, yes. They’ve taken all that is worth stealing, and there is no fear that they will come back. But they left me this,” said the Pike, patting his bundle as he placed it carefully on the ground, “and I can soon replace what I have lost. I’ve got a million dollars here.”
“Why, I should think they would have taken it from you,” said Chase, looking doubtfully at the man and wondering if he was in his right mind.
“It would have been of no use to them—that’s the reason they didn’t take it.”
Chase glanced at the Pike’s wife and children, who ranged themselves on the opposite side of the fire without saying a word, and then turned his attention to the man himself, who began undoing his bundle, finally disclosing to view the machine which was to run his quartz-mill when he reached his gold-mine in the mountains. Chase, unable to make out what it was, asked some questions concerning it, but the Pike was too busy to reply. Reuben, with whom he next tried to be sociable, didn’t want to talk or didn’t know how; but the woman had a tongue and it was a matter of no difficulty to set it going.
While Chase was eating his meat, and listening to her story of the adventures that had lately befallen herself and family, another party approached the camp-fire—three boys about Chase’s own age, who came plodding along through the snow with bundles thrown over their shoulders. They looked at Chase in great amazement, and one of them said, in a voice which he meant should be audible only to his companions, but whose shrill, piping tones nevertheless reached the wanderer’s ear and set his heart to beating like a trip-hammer—