After breakfast Tom wandered out and surveyed the gulch with sad interest.
“This is the place,” he said, “where my father was robbed and perhaps murdered. I wish I could solve the mystery of his fate.”
“Don’t let it affect your spirits too much, my young friend,” said Dr. Spooner. “Your father may have died before his time, but he is in the hands of his Creator. We must submit to the inevitable, trusting and believing that in the end all will turn out for the best.”
“You are right,” said Tom, “but here where my poor father disappeared, I can’t help recalling him to mind.”
“And very natural it is, too.”
After a walk, Tom joined his friends in their labors. The claim was not exhausted, and they decided to remain at Rocky Gulch as long as it was worth working.
Tom did not work all day. He devoted a part of every afternoon to exploring the gulch, with the view of finding the bag of gold dust, which Mr. Darke had concealed, and then been unable to find. In more than one place he dug down, only to be disappointed. It was provoking to think that somewhere, perhaps where he had himself walked, there was hidden beneath the surface a sum of money belonging to him and his mother by right of inheritance, which would have made the family rich.
But Tom did not employ all his leisure time in this way. Sometimes he took his gun, for he had bought one since he came to Rocky Gulch, and wandered for miles over the hills, or through the valleys, shooting a bird or a squirrel, according to the opportunities he had.
One day he took for an entire holiday; he was alone, Mr. Brush being rather indisposed, and the doctor being in attendance upon him.
Having so much time at command, he wandered further than ever before. He had not had much sport. In fact his thoughts were upon his home, and he walked on without much thought of the scene about him, when there came to his ears, borne by the wind, a shout, which sounded very much like “Help! help!”