“Grant, are you going to join us?” asked Tom.
“I don’t know as I can afford it,” answered Grant anxiously.
“We can’t any of us afford it,” returned Mr. Cooper. “Sit down, boy, and we’ll borrow trouble afterward.”
“Now,” said Mr. Cooper, as he rose from the table, “I’ll take a turn round the town and see what information I can gain. I’ll turn in the wagon into the yard alongside. Mrs. Cooper, will you keep your eye on it while the rest of us go on a tour of inspection? I don’t think the oxen will be likely to run away,” he added jocosely.
“All right, father.”
Mr. Cooper, Tom, and Grant set out in different directions.
Grant started on his walk feeling sober, if not depressed. Here he was, two thousand miles from his old home, with only nine dollars in his pocket, and the prices for living extortionate. How was he to get to the mines? Before he could get ready to leave Sacramento his money would be exhausted. Since he left home, four months before, Grant hadn’t felt so perplexed and disturbed.
He had walked only five minutes, when he found himself in front of the Sacramento Hotel, the largest in the place.
Half a dozen stages were in the street outside, each drawn by four horses, and each bearing the name of some mining camp to which it proposed to carry passengers. The drivers were calling lustily for recruits. This was what Grant heard—“All aboard for Hangtown! Only four seats left! Who’s going to Gold Gulch? Now’s your chance! Get you through in six hours. Start in fifteen minutes for Frost’s Bar! Richest diggings, within fifty miles!”
“I wonder what they charge,” thought Grant. “I’ll ask.” He went up to the stage bound for Weaver Creek, and inquired the fare.