“The first position I managed to work myself into was that of mule-whacker—teamster, you know; but I didn’t understand the care of stock. I wasn’t strong enough to handle the heavy boxes and bales of freight, and after one of the mules had kicked me over a few times, I became sick of the job, threw it up, and went back to Denver. Everything there was full—more applicants than there were places for them to fill.
“One day while I was wandering about the streets, waiting for something to turn up, I came across a college graduate who was sawing wood for his dinner. After a little talk with him, I made up my mind that I would have to come down to it, too, so I took in every job of that kind I could find, swept out saloons and stores—in fact, did anything that would bring me money enough to pay for a decent meal once a day.”
“Where did you sleep?” asked Oscar.
“In deserted shanties, principally,” was the reply. “When I was hungry or thirsty, and couldn’t find any way to earn money, I pawned some of the clothing I had purchased in St. Louis. At last I had nothing left but my overcoat, and I dared not think what I should do when that, too, was gone. But they say it is always darkest just before daylight, and, as it happened, I struck a lead just in the nick of time—struck it rich, too.
“While I was sweeping out a saloon to pay for my breakfast, this man—who is now my partner—came in for his regular eye-opener. After he had drank it, he fell into conversation with two or three fellows who were sitting around, and then I learned that he was a professional wolfer. He said that he had made thirty-five hundred dollars out of his last season’s catch, and had come to the settlements to sell his plunder and have a good time. Having spent all his money, and winter being close at hand, he was getting ready to start out again. All he lacked was a companion, but he couldn’t find one.
“I don’t know what it was that prompted me to follow him out of the saloon when he left, but I did it, and I tell you it was a most lucky thing for me. I told him that I didn’t know anything about a wolfer’s business, but I must do something to earn my grub and clothes, and offered, if he would take me with him and teach me the tricks of the trade, to give him one-third of my catch. He jumped at my offer, and here I am, but in this condition,” said Tom, arising to his feet and turning his trousers’ pockets inside out, to show that they were empty.
“I don’t see that you have had any good luck yet,” replied Oscar. “You seem to be completely strapped.”
“So I am, but I consider myself very fortunate, all the same, for I am in a fair way to make a splendid living. Thirty-five hundred dollars in one season, and all the summer to rest in! Just think of it! Why, man alive, we’ll be rich in five years! We’ll have a cattle ranch of our own, live on the fat of the land, and fairly roll in money!” cried Tom, trying in vain to infuse some of his bogus enthusiasm into his brother, who was not at all impressed by these visions of ease and wealth.
We said that Tom’s enthusiasm was not genuine, and neither was it. It was assumed for a purpose, and Oscar knew what that purpose was before his brother’s next words revealed it.
“Come to think it all over, I am heartily glad I met you,” continued Tom. “Here we are, brothers, strangers in a strange land, and both in trouble. Our interests are identical. Two can do more than one, and we ought by all means to hang together. You must have seven or eight hundred dollars, haven’t you?”