“Well, I haven’t got any stocks—worthless or otherwise—to worry me. I may have, by and by, if we are lucky at the gold-fields.”
“Just so; that is what I am hoping. A thousand dollars won’t go far here.”
“I should think not. But I suppose you want to go to bed. So good-night.”
“I am glad he’s gone,” said Morton to himself, when his companion left the room. “Have I done right to encourage his intimacy? Is there no fear that through him my secret may be divulged? Then, there is that boy. It’s strange, by the way, that his name is Lincoln—the same as mine. Perhaps he is a distant relation. However, he is only a boy. There can’t be any harm in him.”
It was not altogether true that Morton was reduced to a thousand dollars in gold. He had about four times that sum remaining of the cash he had purloined from his former employer. But in California, as I have already said, this was an era of high prices, and though this sum seemed considerable, it would soon melt away if Morton did not find some way of earning more. He might have gone into business in San Francisco with what money he had, but there was always danger of being recognized in a city, the population of which was reinforced every week or two by new emigrants from the States. Under the circumstances the most feasible plan of increasing his fortunes seemed to be to go to the mines. Could he only have negotiated the valuable securities which he had brought away with him, he would have made his way to Europe, settled down on the Continent, and lived comfortably, provided with ample means. But, as we know, the securities thus far had only occasioned him anxiety and apprehension. He could not see his way clear to any benefit to be derived from them, unless to negotiate for their return in consideration of a liberal reward. He was not prepared, as yet, to hazard the danger of such a course.
The night passed, and the next morning rose bright and clear. The first part of the journey was to be performed in a stage-coach. The last must be made with such aids as they could find.
At ten they started. Tom and Gates were in high spirits. Morton was more sober. He had cares and anxieties from which they were exempt.
Each of the three was provided with a revolver, for the country was unsettled, and they were liable to meet with highwaymen. Tom had no weapon of his own, but Gates, who had two, lent him one of his. Tom secretly hoped that he might have a chance to use it. He was of an age when adventure, even when accompanied by peril, has a certain charm.