EDWARD STRATEMEYER’S BOOKS

Old Glory Series

Six Volumes. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume $1.25.

• UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA.
• A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA.
• FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS.
• UNDER OTIS IN THE PHILIPPINES.
• THE CAMPAIGN OF THE JUNGLE.
• UNDER MacARTHUR IN LUZON.

Stratemeyer Popular Series

Ten Volumes. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume $0.75.

• THE LAST CRUISE OF THE SPITFIRE.
• REUBEN STONE’S DISCOVERY.
• TRUE TO HIMSELF.
• RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE.
• OLIVER BRIGHT’S SEARCH.
• TO ALASKA FOR GOLD.
• THE YOUNG AUCTIONEER.
• BOUND TO BE AN ELECTRICIAN.
• SHORTHAND TOM, THE REPORTER.
• FIGHTING FOR HIS OWN.

Soldiers of Fortune Series

Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume $1.25.

• ON TO PEKIN.
• AT THE FALL OF PORT ARTHUR.
• UNDER THE MIKADO’S FLAG.
• WITH TOGO FOR JAPAN.

American Boys’ Biographical Series

Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume $1.25.

• AMERICAN BOYS’ LIFE OF WILLIAM McKINLEY.
• AMERICAN BOYS’ LIFE OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT.

Colonial Series

Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume $1.25.

• WITH WASHINGTON IN THE WEST.
• MARCHING ON NIAGARA.
• AT THE FALL OF MONTREAL.
• THE FORT IN THE WILDERNESS.
• ON THE TRAIL OF PONTIAC.
• TRAIL AND TRADING POST.

Pan-American Series

Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume $1.25.

• LOST ON THE ORINOCO.
• THE YOUNG VOLCANO EXPLORERS.
• YOUNG EXPLORERS OF THE ISTHMUS.
• YOUNG EXPLORERS OF THE AMAZON.

Dave Porter Series

Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume $1.25.

• DAVE PORTER AT OAK HALL.
• DAVE PORTER IN THE SOUTH SEAS.

• TWO YOUNG LUMBERMEN. Price $1.25.
• BETWEEN BOER AND BRITON. Price $1.25.
• JOE, THE SURVEYOR. Price $1.00.
• LARRY, THE WANDERER. Price $1.00.

[Before the other could interfere, Oliver was on the rail and over the side.]

Oliver Bright’s Search

OR

The Mystery of a Mine

BY

EDWARD STRATEMEYER

AUTHOR OF “UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA,” “A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA,”
“FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS,” “RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE,”
“TO ALASKA FOR GOLD,” ETC., ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

BOSTON:
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

Copyright, 1895,

By THE MERRIAM COMPANY.

Copyright, 1899, by Lee and Shepard.

All Rights Reserved.

Oliver Bright’s Search.

Norwood Press

J. S. Cushing & Co.—Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.

PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION.

“Oliver Bright’s Search,” the second volume of the “Bound to Succeed” Series, relates the adventures of a manly American youth who goes West to locate a mine in which his invalid father owns a large interest. Oliver is just out of school, and has but little experience in travelling, yet he does not hesitate to take the trip to California, by way of the Isthmus of Panama, and thence into the interior on horseback.

Oliver is, in every respect, an up-to-date boy; one who will stand no nonsense when dealing with those who would defraud his father out of his lawful property; yet the boy’s moral principles are of a high order, and he is not unmerciful when the object of his long search has been gained.

It was hoped, when the book was first issued, that the story would stand well beside “Richard Dare’s Venture,” which had preceded it. It has been even more successful than the other volume named, and once more the author must thank the readers and critics who have taken such an interest in what he has written.

In conclusion, the author would say a word in regard to the scenes in the mining districts of California. These were drawn very largely from the narratives of a close and dear relative who spent much time out there, going as an Argonaut of ’49, and to whom the vicinity of Sutter’s Mill and the Mokelumne River became as an open book, not only then but later on. To write down these descriptions was, therefore, not only a work of interest, but of love.

EDWARD STRATEMEYER.

Newark, N.J.,
April 1, 1899.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

OLIVER BRIGHT’S SEARCH.

CHAPTER I.
AN UNEXPECTED DISCLOSURE.

“If you please, Master Oliver, your father wishes to see you at once,” said Donald, the man of all work, as he entered the summer-house where Oliver Bright sat poring over a volume of travels.

“What does he want of me?” asked the youth, as he reluctantly closed the book.

“He didn’t say; but he wants you to come at once.”

“Very well, Donald; where is he?”

“In the library.”

Oliver rose to his feet somewhat slowly. He was in no humor just then to face his respected sire. A few words will explain why.

Oliver was afraid he was in for a lecture, and perhaps worse. He was not a boy of bad disposition, but for once the combination of circumstances had led him into serious difficulty.

Oliver was a student at the Rockvale Academy, also catcher for the local baseball nine. Two days before, on the very afternoon that the nine was to play an important game with the club from Elmport, Oliver had been kept in by Dr. Tangus for a supposed fault of which he was not guilty. This had angered Oliver, and as his particular chum, Gus Gregory, was kept in at the same time, the two planned to “get square,” as they termed it.

Their plan of action was simple and harmless enough, but it bore grievous results. Gus proposed to take the doctor’s pet calf from her pasture and lead her into the schoolroom, and Oliver agreed that if this was done he would make the old cow follow.

At dead of night the two boys started to carry out their plan. But both the calf and the cow made such a noise that the doctor’s whole household was aroused, and the two boys had to run for it.

In making their escape Gus Gregory had stumbled over a hothouse bed, smashing a dozen panes of glass or more, thus provoking a shot from the doctor’s hired man, who imagined burglars were around.

When Oliver reached home he found he had quite a severe cut upon his left hand, obtained in his effort to help Gus out of the hotbed frame.

In the morning the wound, despite the fact that he had bathed it in arnica, appeared as bad as ever. But Oliver did not dare to ask permission to remain at home, and so set out for the academy in anything but a cheerful mood.

Gus Gregory met him at the gate with a long-drawn face; and small wonder.

Dr. Tangus had found them out. Gus had dropped his note-book in the hotbed and the gardener had picked it up. In a terrible rage, the doctor soon after called at the Gregory home, and forced a full confession from Gus. Mr. Gregory had promised to pay his full share of the damage done, and to bring his son to account, and the doctor left saying he would call on Oliver’s father later.

When Oliver entered the academy he was at once called aside by the doctor. But little was said; Dr. Tangus merely stating what he had discovered, and declaring his intention to settle the matter outside of the school.

This had happened Friday morning. It was now Saturday, and Oliver firmly believed that the hour of retribution had come. He took all the time possible to walk up the gravel path and through the broad hall, and hesitated several seconds before turning the handle of the library door.

When he entered the room he found his father seated at the desk, his forehead resting on his hand. Mr. Bright was a man well past the middle age of life, and somewhat broken down in health.

He was tall and slender, with brown hair and eyes. His manner as a general rule was gentle, and as Oliver gazed at his parent, his heart smote him for the trouble he had brought about.

“You sent for me, father,” he said, as he stopped by the door.

Mr. Bright started up from the revery into which he had fallen.

“Yes, Oliver,” he replied. “Come in and sit down. I want to have a talk with you.”

The boy did as requested, taking a chair that stood in the bay-window at the farther end of the room. He could not help but look at his father closely. Surely he did not appear to be much provoked over what had occurred.

“Come closer, Oliver; here, take this chair by my side,” went on Mr. Bright. “I do not wish any one to overhear what I have to say.”

The boy took the seat indicated. Then for the first time he noticed how careworn his father appeared. There were numerous wrinkles upon Mr. Bright’s brow and his eyes were sunken and troubled.

“You are nearly seventeen years old, I believe,” began Mr. Bright after a moment of silence.

“I’ll be seventeen next May,” replied the boy, relieved at being asked such an ordinary question.

“And your term at the academy closes next month, I believe?”

“Yes, sir; three weeks from yesterday.”

“And when you have finished your course there have you thought of what was to be done next?”

“Why I thought I was to go to college,” said Oliver, somewhat astonished at the question. “Of course you didn’t say I was to go; but all the others were going, and—”

“It was my full intention to have you go, Oliver. But circumstances will make a change necessary. I hate to disappoint you, but I am afraid it cannot be helped.” And Mr. Bright turned away his face.

Oliver’s heart grew cold in an instant. Give up going to college! Give it up after having anticipated it so long, after having talked it over so many times with the other boys! Surely his father intended to punish him too severely altogether.

“Oh, don’t say that, father!” he cried. “I will try to do better in the future! I did not mean to do so wrong! I—I did not stop to think.”

Mr. Bright straightened up and looked at his son curiously.

“What are you talking about, Oliver?” he asked. “I am not finding fault with the way you have conducted yourself at the academy. In fact, I must congratulate you on the general excellence of the reports Dr. Tangus sends in. By the last I see that you stood next to the highest in the class, and that counts for much where there are so many bright boys. I have no doubt that the doctor is proud of you.”

Oliver was completely mystified by this speech. It was evident that his father knew nothing concerning what had taken place. The boy gave an inward groan as he thought of what a change there would be when exposure came.

“Then Dr. Tangus has not been here?” he asked.

“No. What put that in your head?”

“I thought he had come to report me.”

“No; I have not seen the doctor in a month, though I expect him to call soon.” Oliver started. “I have had no reasons to find fault with you for the way in which you conduct yourself. The trouble in this case comes from an entirely different quarter.”

Mr. Bright paused. Oliver noted that there was a slight quiver in his father’s voice. Surely something quite out of the ordinary was wrong.

“You are the only one who is left to me, Oliver,” Mr. Bright continued. “It was always my intention to give you the best education that money can buy, for I know the value of such, and then give you a first-class start in whatever professional pursuit you might choose to enter. But now, my poor boy”—

Mr. Bright broke off short.

“What is the matter, father?” cried Oliver. “Why cannot you do as you intended? I thought sure I would go to college and then, after perhaps a year or so of traveling, I would settle down and become a lawyer—that is, if you thought I was smart enough.”

“That programme would have suited me exactly, Oliver. Your Uncle William was a lawyer, and you take after him a good deal. But now it cannot be thought of.”

“Why?”

“Ah, it is a bitter story, my boy, and I do not see how I can tell it to you. I was very blind and foolish, trusting those that were not worthy of my confidence, and now both of us must suffer for it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“And perhaps you never will, quite. I was never of a speculative nature; but this was apparently so easy, and so sure to turn out profitably, that I entered into it without due consideration.”

“It is money-matters, then, father, that makes you say that I must change my plans; must give up thinking of going to college, and all that?” faltered Oliver.

“[Yes, Oliver, alas!] yes.” Mr. Bright heaved a deep sigh. “[I am ruined]; I am not worth a dollar in the world!” he added.

[“Yes, Oliver, alas! I am ruined.”]

CHAPTER II.
THE STORY OF THE AURORA MINE.

Oliver Bright was greatly astonished by his father’s disclosure. There had been nothing said or done heretofore to indicate that Mr. Arthur Bright was on the brink of financial disaster. The two had lived in exceedingly comfortable, if not elegant, style, and the boy was granted every reasonable desire.

“You are ruined?” he repeated, with eyes wide open at the announcement.

“Yes, Oliver, completely ruined. This very roof that shelters us is no longer my own.”

“And is there no hope?”

Mr. Bright shook his head.

“I have hoped, until now; all hope is useless—that is”—and the man paused.

“What, father? What is the chance?” asked the boy eagerly.

“It is hardly worth considering, Oliver, it is so small. We had better face the truth, bitter as it is.”

Oliver drew a long breath. To endure poverty is no pleasant thing, especially when one has once been rich. The boy was so completely taken aback that for a moment he did not say a word.

“I should have spoken of this before and prepared you for its coming,” went on Mr. Bright; “but day after day I trusted that matters would take a better turn and all would be right. I am to blame there.”

“Never mind; you did what you thought was right,” responded Oliver as bravely as he could. “But I wish I had known; I would not have laid so many plans for the future. I might have got ready to go to work instead.”

“I have not yet decided what I shall do when we leave this home. I have been out of active business so long that I suppose it will come hard to resume it again. Perhaps I will go back to the book business, that is, if I can find a suitable opening.”

Oliver looked at his father in dismay. For a man in Mr. Bright’s state of health to go back to active life after a retirement of eight years would be hard indeed.

“I wish I knew something of the book business; I’d sail right in and work for both of us,” he declared with considerable vim. “But I don’t know the first thing about business of any kind,” he added with a sigh.

“You are bright by nature as well as by name, Oliver,” said his father with a faint smile. “I think you will stand a fair chance of making your way.”

“I hope so. Any way, I intend to try. But, father, won’t you tell me something of your affairs?”

“Yes, Oliver; I intend to tell you as much as you can understand. It may prove a useful lesson to you.” Mr. Bright ran his hand over his forehead as if to collect his thoughts. “About a year after I sold out my interest in the Franklin Book Company and settled here, I became acquainted with Colonel Mendix. Do you remember him?”

“Oh, yes. He was a dark, Spanish gentleman, with a heavy black beard.”

“You are right, saving that he was far from being a gentleman, though I did not know that at the time. This Mendix was introduced to me by James Barr, an intimate friend of mine, who was a surveyor and who had become interested in several mining schemes.”

“I remember him also.”

“This Mendix visited me several times, and finally unfolded to me a simple plan for making a fortune on the outlay of a comparatively small sum of money. As you say, he was of Spanish descent, his people coming from some place in South America. He had also a number of relatives among the early settlers in California, who, you know, settled there before the gold fever broke out.”

“Yes, I have heard of those Spanish settlements.”

“Colonel Mendix said that among these relatives were two old men who had in their possession a paper containing the full directions for reaching and locating a very valuable mine somewhere up among the mountains. These two men were too old to work the mine themselves, and they were willing to sell out their secret and rights for ten thousand dollars, to be paid when the mine was located and found to be as they represented.”

“What was the mine supposed to be worth?” asked Oliver with interest.

“Colonel Mendix placed its value at not less than seventy-five thousand dollars, and said it might be worth several hundred thousand.”

“It’s a wonder he didn’t buy the mine himself, without saying anything about it.”

“He said he had not the cash, and he did not wish to apply to any of his Spanish friends for fear they would make inquiries and buy the mine for themselves. Mendix was a very plausible talker, and before I was aware of what I was doing, I had agreed to advance the money, stipulating, however, that James Barr should be the one to locate the mine and determine its value. I had known Barr so long that I felt sure I could trust him.

“Well, the contract was drawn up and signed. By it Mendix was to have a quarter interest in the Aurora Mine, as we had christened it, and James Barr was to have an eighth. The remainder was to be mine. I was to advance the purchasing money as well as the cash to open up the place, either to work it ourselves or place it on the market. Do you follow, Oliver?”

“Easily enough; it’s as plain as day.”

“As soon as this was done, Mendix and Barr set out for California. Two months later I received word that they had obtained the directions and were about setting out for the mine, which was located somewhere back of a place called Sutter’s Mill.

“Four months passed. Then came a long letter from Mendix and a note from Barr. The mine had been found even better than represented, and they wished to close the bargain at once, and asked me to forward a draft for five thousand dollars additional, which they intended to use in purchasing the machinery of an abandoned mine some ten miles distant, and have it transported to the Aurora. The outlook seemed so favorable that I complied without hesitation.

“Another letter came a month later from Mendix, saying the mine had been opened, but that another five thousand dollars would be needed to put in additional machinery for draining the water and crushing the rock. This I also paid, although in order to do it I was compelled to take a mortgage on this place for three thousand.”

“Didn’t you have other money?”

“Only in stocks, and those I did not care to sell as they were then low and I thought they would rise. I found that Dr. Tangus had money to loan, and so I went to him.”

“Dr. Tangus!” cried Oliver, thinking of what was to come.

“Yes. He let me have the money and took a mortgage on this place. The money fell due last week, and yesterday I received a note from the doctor asking for payment.”

Oliver gave a groan. Was it possible his own doings had hurried Dr. Tangus’s actions?

“And you cannot pay him?”

“No. But I am ahead of my story. Time went on and I heard no more from the mine. I wrote to Mendix and to Barr, but received no reply. Then came a draft for four thousand dollars to pay for some more machinery Mendix had ordered. I paid the claim, but immediately sent word not to contract any more debts, as I would not pay them, and demanding an accounting.

“None came, and I sent an agent to San Francisco to find out how matters stood. At the end of two months I received word from this man, Bentwell, and also from Mendix, that the mine had become flooded with water, that it could not be drained, and that in making surveys of the place James Barr had been drowned.

“This news was so disheartening I knew not what to do. I was out twenty-four thousand dollars, and had not a thing to show for it. I was on the point of starting for California myself when a friend of Mendix appeared on the scene.

“This man had been out to the mine, and knew all about it. He said the Aurora was utterly worthless, that Mendix had at last found it so, and that the man had left in disgust for South America. Private creditors had levied upon such machinery as was above ground, and that I might as well give up all hope of ever receiving a dollar out of the thing.

“This news all but prostrated me; for in the meanwhile stocks here in the East were declining rapidly. I kept up as long as I could, but now it is no use to do so longer. As I said before, every dollar is gone.”

Mr. Bright turned away to hide his emotion. The story had been a hard one to tell. Oliver knew not what to say.

At this juncture there was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Hanson, the housekeeper, appeared.

“Dr. Tangus is here to see you,” she said to Mr. Bright.

CHAPTER III.
MR. BRIGHT’S RESOLVE.

The announcement that Dr. Tangus had come to see his father filled Oliver Bright with dismay. Considering the story he would have to tell, the doctor’s arrival at any time would have been unpleasant for the boy, but under existing circumstances it was a thing to be dreaded. What would his father think when the whole miserable story came to light?

And yet, if it must be told, he wished that his father should first hear it from his own lips. He knew the doctor could turn the case so that it might look very black indeed.

Therefore, before Mr. Bright had time to tell the housekeeper to show the schoolmaster in, the boy leaned over and whispered,—

“I would like to speak a few words with you before the doctor comes in.”

His father nodded, thinking that his son wished to continue the conversation that had just been interrupted.

“Take the doctor in the parlor, Mrs. Hanson,” he said. “Say I will see him in a moment.”

Mrs. Hanson at once disappeared. When the two were left alone Mr. Bright looked at Oliver inquiringly.

“There is nothing more to tell,” he said; “Dr. Tangus’s visit caps the climax. He, no doubt, has called for his money; and unless I get an extension of time in which to pay up, the matter will be put into the sheriff’s hands, and the place will be sold.”

“It is too bad,” returned the boy. “But there is something else I wish to speak about.” He colored up painfully. “I did not think so much of it at the time—that is, I did not think it was so wicked a deed to do. When I came in I thought Dr. Tangus had been here and told you all about it.”

“About what?”

In a few words, and with a very troubled look upon his face, Oliver told his tale. Mr. Bright listened in silence.

“I know now just how bad and senseless a thing it was to do,” said the boy, at the conclusion.

“I trust you do,” replied his father. “Pranks of that kind to my mind show only a lack of wit. You ought to be above such things, Oliver.” Mr. Bright heaved a sigh. “I am afraid this will tend to make the doctor stiff in his demands. I thought the tone of yesterday’s letter was rather severe.”

“I am afraid so too.” Oliver bit his lip in vexation. “I wish he had punished me in school instead. It isn’t fair to make you suffer for what I have done!” he cried.

“When we do wrong we are not always sure who will suffer for it. But we will say no more about it. What I have revealed will be punishment enough for you. Now I must go; it will not do to keep the doctor waiting any longer.”

Mr. Bright rose and left the library. Oliver remained where he sat, his chin resting in the palm of his hand.

What a change had taken place since he had entered that room only a short hour before! He had thought himself a well-to-do boy, with every prospect of a brilliant future; now he knew he was as poor as the humblest lad in Rockvale. Instead of going to college and taking things easy for a year or so thereafter, he must roll up his sleeves and go to work. What had brought this great change about?

Carefully he reviewed all the facts which his father had related. Not an incident was forgotten. He wished he had the letters from California to read over; they might contain some particulars his father had forgotten to mention.

“I would like to see that Aurora mine, and satisfy myself that everything is as this Colonel Mendix claimed,” he thought. “He was a thorough sharper in my opinion; and if I was father I would not take his word for the matter.”

His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Bright, accompanied by Dr. Tangus, a stout and highly important looking individual.

Oliver rose and greeted the visitor, offering him a chair at the same time, his face flushing the while. Dr. Tangus looked at him sharply.

“Well, young man, your father tells me you have told him of your mischief-making,” began the schoolmaster.

“Yes, doctor; and I am quite sorry for what I have done.”

“Humph! boys generally are after they are found out,” sniffed the learned gentleman. “However, now that you have told your father, I intend to leave the case in his hands. You are generally a pretty good boy, and I am sorry you have broken your record.”

Oliver did not reply, and the doctor turned to Mr. Bright.

“Then you will grant me an extension of time?” asked the latter anxiously.

“I will give you two months, Mr. Bright,” was the somewhat slow response; “but more than that I cannot do. If at the end of that time you cannot pay I will foreclose.”

“Very well, we will so understand it,” said Oliver’s father; “and I thank you for the accommodation,” he added politely. “Here are the papers.”

The document in the matter was duly drawn up and signed. Then Dr. Tangus took his leave.

“I trust you are able to meet the claim when due,” said he on departing.

“I shall try my best,” responded Mr. Bright.

When the door was closed he sank down in his chair.

“We have two months’ grace, Oliver. If I cannot pay at the end of that time, out we go.”

“Two months is quite a while,” replied the boy as bravely as he could. “A good deal may happen in that time. Any way, it will give us both a chance to look around for situations. But tell me, isn’t this place worth more than the mortgage he holds?”

“Yes; but it wouldn’t bring it at a forced sale. I am quite sure we will be left without anything but our personal effects. Of course they amount to considerable; but oh, how I hate to part with any of them!”

“I hope it won’t become necessary, father. But will you let me see those letters that Colonel Mendix wrote you? I have an idea he didn’t tell you the truth about that mine.”

Mr. Bright started.

“The same thought has occurred to me,” he said. “I often wished I had gone to the place and seen for myself.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was ill, and too much interested in bonds here. The bonds that I carried were of the par value of one hundred thousand dollars, four times what the mine cost. I gave my attention to the larger deal. Besides, there was another reason; I did not know exactly where the mine was located nor how to reach it.”

“You did not?”

“No. Mendix had all the papers; and he kept them, or destroyed them, I do not know which.”

“Then for all you know the mine may be valuable and in running order to-day,” went on Oliver excitedly.

“I doubt it, Oliver; and yet”—

“If Mendix was a rascal, his saying that the mine was flooded might only be a ruse to get you to abandon your claim to it.”

“That is so. To tell the truth, more than once, since I lost my other property, I have thought of going out and making an examination.”

“Then why don’t you go? It will do no harm, and may save you from ruin.”

Mr. Bright started up.

“I will go, Oliver,” he cried.

CHAPTER IV.
AN ACCIDENT.

His sudden resolve seemed to liven up Mr. Bright considerably. He rubbed his hands and strode up and down the room.

“Yes; I will go,” he repeated. “As you say, it can do no harm, and may save us from ruin.”

“May I go too?” asked Oliver eagerly.

Mr. Bright thought in silence for a moment.

“I would like to have you with me,” he said; “but I think you had better remain behind. One of us ought to stay here, and, besides, the expense of the journey will be considerable.”

“I am sorry,” said the boy; “I would like to go first-rate.”

“Come, we will go over what letters and papers I have together. Perhaps you will see something in them that I have overlooked,” said Mr. Bright.

Opening one of the locked drawers of the desk, Mr. Bright brought forth the various communications he had received from Colonel Mendix and James Barr. Both father and son read them over carefully.

“It is my impression that this Mendix did not wish you to visit the Aurora mine,” said Oliver. “If you will notice, throughout the letters he speaks of the hard road to travel to get there, and the unhealthiness of the climate, and all that. He knew you were not strong, and he hoped that would deter you from venturing.”

“Perhaps you are right, Oliver. I did not think of that before.”

“Are you sure this Mendix has gone to South America?”

“I was; but your questions fill me with doubt. I begin to think that perhaps I have been blind all this time. I think—my! my! What is the matter with Jerry?”

Oliver’s gaze followed that of his father out of the window. There, on the smooth lawn, a spirited horse was acting in an exceedingly strange manner, throwing his head viciously from side to side.

“Donald has been whipping him again,” said Oliver. “He ought to know better.”

Mr. Bright did not reply. Springing from his chair, he hurried from the library, his son following.

In his day Mr. Bright had been quite a horseman, and Oliver, too, liked to ride. Both hated to see an animal abused, and both were excited over the present sight.

“Whoa! Jerry! whoa!” cried Mr. Bright, running up to the horse.

He caught the animal by the halter, which had been broken off rather short, and attempted to soothe him. But Jerry’s blood was up, and before Mr. Bright was aware he was thrown in the air and came down heavily against the grape arbor.

“Oh!” He gave a deep groan of pain. “Catch him, Oliver; but be careful about it.”

The boy was already advancing. He caught the halter, and then vaulted upon Jerry’s back.

For a moment there was a fierce struggle, but Oliver kept his seat, and feeling himself mastered, the horse subsided. Then the boy jumped to the ground and turned him over to the man of all work.

“Take him back to the stable, Donald,” he said; “and mind you, he is to be whipped no more.”

“I only struck him once”—began the man.

“That was once too often. Jerry is too nervous to be handled in that manner.”

Oliver saw the horse led away, and then turned his attention to his father. To his surprise Mr. Bright had fainted.

Running to the well, the boy procured some cold water, which he sprinkled in his father’s face. It had the effect of reviving him almost immediately.

“Are you hurt?” asked Oliver in deep anxiety.

“I—I am afraid I am. My chest hurts, and I cannot use my right leg.”

“I’ll call Dr. Kitchell,” replied Oliver.

Fortunately the physician lived directly across the road. He was at home, and in less than three minutes the boy had him over.

“Humph! two ribs broken, and also the right leg!” said Dr. Kitchell. “Rather a serious accident. Come, we will carry him into the house.”

Donald was called, and the three succeeded in carrying the unfortunate man into the house and placing him on the lounge in the sitting-room.

Then the man of all work was dispatched to the drug-store, and the doctor went to work to set the broken limb and fix up the fractured ribs. Oliver assisted all he could, the tears standing in his eyes meanwhile.

“Never mind,” said Dr. Kitchell, noticing his grief. “It will be all right. All your father wants is quietness for a couple of months. There is small danger.”

Oliver felt relieved at this statement. And yet he could not help but think of the trip to California. His father would have to abandon that now, and he would hardly be well before they would be obliged to leave the house and seek a home elsewhere.

Towards evening Mr. Bright felt somewhat easier, and he and Oliver had quite a talk. He demurred strongly at being compelled to rest quietly for eight weeks or longer, and spoke of the plans that must now be cast aside.

“Why not let me go?” said Oliver suddenly. “I am sure I can get along all right.”

“No, Oliver; it would be asking too much of you.”

“No, it would not. Can you get along without me?”

“I suppose I might; Mrs. Hanson is a capital nurse. But it is too big an undertaking for a boy.”

“You forget, father, that I am nearly seventeen years old.”

“No, I do not; nor do I forget that you are smart for your age. But still I would hate to send you on a journey that might prove full of danger. If their accounts be true, the road is a perilous one, and the mining districts are full of rough characters.”

“After I left San Francisco I could go well armed. I don’t think it would be so dangerous. A good class of settlers are pouring into the place, and they would surely not molest me. You must remember that things are not as they were at the close of the war.”

“What you say is true, Oliver; but I would hate to send you into the midst of danger, however slight. If you were only going to San Francisco it would be different. But to go away up in the mountains, and utterly alone”—

Mr. Bright did not finish, a violent twitch of pain stopping him short. Seeing that his father could not stand conversing, Oliver withdrew.

He ascended to his own room, and, taking a chair by the window, sat down to think. For fully half an hour he did not move. Then he went below and made his way to the kitchen, where Mrs. Hanson was preparing some broth for the sick man.

“Mrs. Hanson,” he said, calling her aside, “father was planning to go on a journey, and now that he can’t go, I’ve been thinking of going for him without letting him know—that is, for several days. Do you think you could get along without me while I am gone?”

“Why, bless you, Oliver, yes! I’ve been a nurse these ten years before I was a housekeeper. It will be no trouble whatever.”

“And you will not let him know that I have gone—that is, for a few days? It might only worry him.”

“If you wish it.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“When will you go?”

“Monday morning early.”

“Very well; I won’t say a word. It’s business, I suppose?”

“Yes; father’s business; something that must be attended to.”

All that evening Oliver was busy with his preparations. There was a big valise to pack, and numerous other things to do. At ten o’clock, when the others had retired, he stole down to the library, and seating himself at the table, took complete copies of all the letters and papers relating to the Aurora mine and Colonel Mendix’s peculiar method of transacting business.

“Now I am ready to start,” he said to himself, as he arose. “When I arrive in New York I will either sell or pawn my gold watch and my diamond pin, and then—ho, for the Aurora mine!”

CHAPTER V.
LEAVING HOME.

On the following morning Oliver found his father somewhat recovered from the rude shock he had received. Of course the man was unable to move from the couch upon which he rested, but he was able to sit up and converse without, apparently, more than an occasional dull pain.

Mr. Bright was, however, much worried over the disarrangement of his plans, sighing out continually his disappointment at not being able to leave on a tour of discovery. To all this Oliver made no reply, saving to urge his parent not to worry, as all would yet turn out right.

During the day, the boy managed, by skillful questioning, to gain all the additional information that was to be had. In the afternoon he attended Sunday-school, the last time, he thought, for many weeks and perhaps months to come.

In the class with Oliver was Gus Gregory, his chum, a short and exceedingly stout youth, with a freckled but not unpleasant face. At the close of the service he and Oliver left together.

“Well, how did you make out over our fun at the doctor’s?” was Gus’s first question.

Oliver told him.

“My, but you got off easier than I did!” exclaimed the stout youth. “Didn’t pop give it to me though! I haven’t been able to sit down with any kind of comfort since.”

Oliver did not reply. He was silent for a moment, and then laid his hand on his chum’s shoulder.

“Say, Gus,” he said, “will you keep a secret if I tell it to you?”

“Why, of course, Olly,” was the prompt reply. “Did I ever let out anything I shouldn’t?”

“Well, then, I’m going away.”

“Going away? Where?”

“To California.”

“Phew! you don’t mean it!”

“Yes, I do. I’m going to start to-morrow morning first thing. I thought I’d tell you and say good-by.”

“Does your father know?”

“No. Only Mrs. Hanson, and now you.”

“What are you going for? just to run away? I thought you said your father didn’t touch you for the trouble we got into.”

“Neither did he. I’m going on business. Come, let us sit under that tree, and I’ll tell you all about it.”