“No, but——”
“Then you must take your share of the money. If you don’t, we’ll throw it away, won’t we doctor?”
“Yes, Tom must take it.”
“Then, my dear, kind friends, I will take it, for your sake and my mother’s. I wish I could change a part of it for a suit of clothes.”
“You can. There’s a trader in the village who keeps a general stock of goods. We’ll fit you out in the morning.”
“And is there a chance to mail a letter. Mother hasn’t heard from me for months; she may think I am dead.”
“There’s no regular post-office, but you can leave the letter at the trader’s, and it will go to ’Frisco by the first chance. Letters don’t often have to wait over a week.”
“It seems like a dream,” said Tom. “An hour ago I came here a penniless tramp. Now, thanks to you, I am a rich boy. I can’t realize that I am worth two thousand dollars.”
“Now, Tom, you must tell us how you escaped from the Indians. You haven’t told us a word yet.”
“True, Mr. Brush; I will begin at once.”