"I shouldn't wonder if he were a miser," he reflected. "He's been out here twenty-five years, more or less, and has lived on next to nothing. Even if he hasn't made much he's got it all, according to accounts. I'm the only one of his kith and kin that he is likely to see, and he can't do any better than to leave me what he's got. If he doesn't, I'll stay out here and try my own luck at mining. There's no chance for me in the East, even if I hadn't got into trouble."
He reached the cabin, and paused for a short time on the outside. It was a tumble-down affair, and looked by no means like the residence of a rich man. This might have dampened Ralph's courage, but that he had made up his mind that his uncle was a miser.
Finally he edged round to the side of the cabin and looked in at the window.
What he saw was this: in a wooden chair, evidently of home manufacture, sat a decrepit old man. His face was thin, his cheeks hollow, and his hair, perfectly white, scarcely covered his head. His limbs were attenuated, his chest was hollow, and he looked like a very old and infirm man, though he numbered but sixty-five years.
"What a skeleton he is!" thought Ralph. "He is just on the verge of the grave, ready to tumble in. It's a lucky thing I came here, for if he had died those roughs at the store would have taken his money and his relations would never have been the wiser. Well, I'll go in and scrape acquaintance with the old effigy."
He walked round to the door, and without the ceremony of knocking, opened it and made his way into the cabin.
Thomas Nixon looked up, and seemed alarmed when he saw the intruder.
"Who are you?" he asked, in a thin, quavering voice.
It was natural that he should be alarmed, for a western mining settlement has generally its share of rough and unscrupulous men, social outlaws, who have made their way thither in search of gain or booty.
"Don't be alarmed, Uncle Thomas," said Ralph, in a reassuring tone. "I am your nephew Ralph, come from the East to look after you."