"He'll be well before night," thought Fletcher shrewdly; and he privately imparted the joke to the rest of the party. The result was that Mr. Peabody became an object of general attention.

In half an hour the young man from Boston removed his handkerchief from his head.

"Are you feeling better, Mr. Peabody?" asked Tom.

"Very much better," said Peabody.

"Your headache seems to pass off suddenly."

"Yes, it always does," said the young Bostonian. "I am like mother in that. She had a delicate constitution, just like mine. One minute she would have a headache as if her head would split open, and half an hour afterward she would feel as well as usual."

"You are very fortunate. I was afraid your headache would make it uncomfortable for you to watch to-night."

"Yes, it would; but, as the captain said, it would have kept me awake. Now I don't believe I can keep from sleeping on my post."

"Why don't you tell Fletcher so?"

"Won't you tell him, Tom? He might pay more attention to it if you told him."

"No, Mr. Peabody. You are certainly the most suitable person to speak to him. What makes you think he would pay more attention to me, who am only a boy?"

"He seems to like you, Tom."

"I hope he does, but really, Mr. Peabody, you must attend to your own business."

Fletcher was at the head of the train, walking beside the first wagon. Hearing hurried steps, he turned, and saw Mr. Lawrence Peabody, panting for breath.

"Have you got over your headache, Mr. Peabody?" he asked, with a quiet smile.

"Yes, Mr. Fletcher, it's all gone."

"I am glad to hear it."

"It would have kept me awake to-night, as you remarked," said Peabody. "Now, I am really afraid that I shall fall asleep."

"That would be bad for you."

"Why so?"

"You remember those two poor fellows whom we found scalped the other day?"

"I shall never forget them," said Lawrence Peabody, with a shudder.

"Better think of them to-night. If you go to sleep on watch, those very Indians may serve you in the same way."

"Oh, good gracious!" ejaculated Peabody, turning pale.

"They or some of their tribe are, no doubt, near at hand."

"Don't you think you could excuse me, Mr. Fletcher?" stammered Peabody, panic-stricken.

"No!" thundered Fletcher, so sternly that the unhappy Bostonian shrank back in dismay.

For the credit of Boston, it may be said that John Miles—a broad-shouldered young giant, who did not know what fear was—more honorably represented the same city.



CHAPTER XXV.

A NIGHT PANIC.

Lawrence Peabody's feelings when night approached were not unlike those of a prisoner under sentence of death. He was timid, nervous, and gifted with a lively imagination. His fears were heightened by the sad spectacle that he had recently witnessed. His depression was apparent to all; but I regret to say that it inspired more amusement than sympathy. Men winked at each other as they saw him pass; and, with the exception of Tom and his Scotch friend, probably nobody pitied the poor fellow.

"He's a poor creature, Tom," said Donald Ferguson; "but I pity him. We wouldn't mind watching to-night; but I doubt it's a terrible thing to him."

"I would volunteer in his place, but Mr. Fletcher won't agree to it," said Tom.

"He is right. The young man must take his turn. He won't dread it so much a second time."

"What would the poor fellow do if he should see an Indian?"

"Faint, likely; but that is not probable."

"Mr. Fletcher thinks there are some not far off."

"They don't attack in the night, so I hear."

"That seems strange to me. I should think the night would be most favorable for them."

"It's their way. Perhaps they have some superstition that hinders."

"I am glad of it, at any rate. I can sleep with greater comfort."

The rest were not as considerate as Tom and Ferguson. They tried, indeed, to excite still further the fears of the young Bostonian.

"Peabody," said Miles, "have you made your will?"

"No," answered Peabody nervously. "Why should I?"

"Oh, I was thinking that if anything happened to you to-night you might like to say how your things are to be disposed of. You've got a gold watch, haven't you?"

"Yes," said Peabody nervously.

"And a little money, I suppose."

"Not very much, Mr. Miles."

"No matter about that. Of course if you are killed you won't have occasion for it," said Miles, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"I wish you wouldn't talk that way," said Peabody irritably. "It makes me nervous."

"What's the use of being nervous? It won't do any good."

"Do you really think, Mr. Miles, there is much danger?" faltered Peabody.

"Of course there is danger. But the post of danger is the post of honor. Now, Peabody, I want to give you a piece of advice. If you spy one of those red devils crouching in the grass, don't stop to parley, but up with your revolver, and let him have it in the head. If you can't hit him in the head, hit him where you can."

"Wouldn't it be better," suggested Peabody, in a tremulous voice, "to wake you up, or Mr. Fletcher?"

"While you were doing it the savage would make mince-meat of you. No, Peabody, fire at once. This would wake us all up, and if you didn't kill the reptile we would do it for you."

"Perhaps he would see me first," suggested Peabody, in a troubled tone.

"You mustn't let him. You must have your eyes all about you. You are not near-sighted, are you?"

"I believe I am—a little," said Peabody eagerly, thinking that this might be esteemed a disqualification for the position he dreaded.

"Oh, well, I guess it won't make any difference, only you will need to be more vigilant."

"I wish I was blind; just for to-night," thought Peabody to himself, with an inward sigh. "Then they would have to excuse me."

John Miles overtook Fletcher, who was with the head wagon.

"Captain Fletcher," he said, "I am afraid Peabody will make a mighty poor watch."

"Just my opinion."

"He is more timid than the average woman. I've got a sister at home that has ten times his courage. If she hadn't I wouldn't own the relationship."

"I am not willing to excuse him."

"Of course not; but I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll keep an eye open myself, so that we sha'n't wholly depend on him."

"If you are willing to do it, Miles, we shall all be indebted to you. Don't let him know it, though."

"I don't mean to. He shall suppose he is the only man awake in camp."

At a comparatively early hour the party stretched themselves out upon the ground, inviting sleep. Generally they did not have to wait long. The day's march brought with it considerable physical fatigue. Even those who were light sleepers at home slept well on the trip across the plains. Few or none remained awake half an hour after lying down. So Peabody knew that he would soon be practically alone.

With a heavy heart he began to pace slowly forward and back. He came to where Tom lay.

"Tom—Tom Nelson," he called, in a low voice.

"What's the matter?" asked Tom, in a sleepy tone.

"Are you asleep?"

"No; but I soon shall be."

"Won't you try to keep awake a little while? It won't seem so lonesome."

"Sorry I can't accommodate you, Mr. Peabody; but I'm awfully tired and sleepy."

"Who's that talking there?" drowsily demanded the nearest emigrant. "Can't you keep quiet, and let a fellow sleep?"

"Good night, Mr. Peabody," said Tom, by way of putting an end to the conversation.

"Good night," returned the sentinel disconsolately.

The hours passed on, and Lawrence Peabody maintained his watch. He was in no danger of going to sleep, feeling too timid and nervous. He began to feel a little more comfortable. He could see nothing suspicious, and hear nothing except the deep breathing of his sleeping comrades.

"It is not so bad as I expected," he muttered to himself.

He began to feel a little self-complacent, and to reflect that he had underrated his own courage. He privately reflected that he was doing as well as any of his predecessors in duty. He began to think that after he had got back to Boston with a fortune, gained in California, he could impress his friends with a narrative of his night-watch on the distant prairies. But his courage had not yet been tested.

He took out his watch to see how time was passing.

It pointed to twelve o'clock.

Why there should be anything more alarming in twelve o'clock than in any other hour I can't pretend to say, but the fact none will question. Mr. Peabody felt a nervous thrill when his eyes rested on the dial. He looked about him, and the darkness seemed blacker and more awe-inspiring than ever, now that he knew it to be midnight.

"Will it ever be morning?" he groaned. "Four long hours at least before there will be light. I don't know how I am going to stand it."

Now, there was attached to the wagon-train one of those universally despised but useful animals, a donkey, the private property of a man from Iowa, who expected to make it of service in California. The animal was tethered near the camp, and was generally quiet. But to-night he was wakeful, and managed about midnight to slip his tether, and wandered off. Peabody did not observe his escape. His vigilance was somewhat relaxed, and with his head down he gave way to mournful reflection. Suddenly the donkey, who was now but a few rods distant, uplifted his voice in a roar which the night stillness made louder than usual. It was too much for the overwrought nerves of the sentinel. He gave a shriek of terror, fired wildly in the air, and sank fainting to the ground. Of course the camp was roused. Men jumped to their feet, and, rubbing their eyes, gazed around them in bewilderment.

It was not long before the truth dawned upon them. There lay the sentinel, insensible from fright, his discharged weapon at his feet, and the almost equally terrified donkey was in active flight, making the air vocal with his peculiar cries.

There was a great shout of laughter, in the midst of which Peabody recovered consciousness.

"Where am I?" he asked, looking about him wildly, and he instinctively felt for his scalp, which he was relieved to find still in its place.

"What's the matter?" asked the leader. "What made you fire?"

"I—I thought it was the Indians," faltered Peabody. "I thought I heard their horrid war-whoop."

"Not very complimentary to the Indians to compare them with donkeys," said Miles.

Lawrence Peabody was excused from duty for the remainder of the night, his place being taken by Miles and Tom in turn.

It was a long time before he heard the last of his ridiculous panic, but he was not sensitive as to his reputation for courage, and he bore it, on the whole, pretty well.



CHAPTER XXVI.

MR. PEABODY IS WORSTED.

The traveler of to-day who is whirled across the continent in six days and a half has little conception of what the overland journey was in the year 1850. Week after week and month after month slipped away between the start and the arrival on the western slope of the Sierra Nevadas. Delicate women and children of tender years developed extraordinary endurance, and showed remarkable fortitude on the wearisome trip. But the hope of bettering their fortunes was the magnet that drew them steadily on, day after day, in their march across the plains.

Tom was at an age when adventure has a charm. His feet were often weary; but he never tired of the journey. Every morning found him active, alert, and ready for the toilsome walk. He was, indeed, impatient for the time to come when he could be earning something to pay up his debt to Squire Hudson, and so relieve his father from the additional burden assumed for his sake. Otherwise he was quite content to plod on, seeing something new every day.

"You're always cheerful, Tom, my lad," said Ferguson, one day.

"Yes," said Tom. "I am having a good time."

"Youth is aye the time for enjoyment. When I was a lad like you I might have been the same."

"Don't you enjoy the journey, Mr. Ferguson?" asked Tom.

"I'm getting tired of it, Tom. I look upon it as a means to an end. I'm in a hurry to reach the mines."

"So am I, Mr. Ferguson, for that matter."

"And I can't help thinking, what if they don't turn out as well as we expect? Then there'll be months lost, besides a good bit of money," replied Ferguson.

"Oh, I'm sure there is plenty of gold, and we shall get our share," said Tom confidently; "that is, if we have our health."

"I hope it'll be as you say, my lad. Indeed, I think you are right. You have taught me a lesson."

"Have I, Mr. Ferguson? What is it?"

"Always to look on the bright side. It is a lesson worth learning. It makes a man feel happier, and often gives courage to press on to the accomplishment of his purpose."

"I suppose it is natural to me," said Tom.

"It is a happy gift. It is a pity that poor creature from Boston hadn't it."

Lawrence Peabody was approaching, and this no doubt led to the allusion. He was limping along, looking decidedly down in the mouth, which, indeed, was not unusual.

"What is the matter with you, Mr. Peabody?" asked Tom.

"I'm almost gone," groaned Peabody. "My strength is exhausted, and, besides, I've got a terrible corn on my left foot."

"How long has that been?"

"For two or three days. It's torture for me to walk. I don't know but you'll have to leave me here on the prairie to perish."

"Not so bad as that, Mr. Peabody, I hope. Perhaps Mr. Chapman will lend you his donkey to ride upon."

The owner of the donkey was within hearing distance, and at once expressed a willingness to lend his animal to Mr. Peabody.

"That will be better than perishing on the prairies," said Tom cheerfully.

"I am not much used to riding," said Peabody cautiously.

"He won't run away with you, Peabody," said the owner. "He's too lazy."

Lawrence Peabody was already aware of this fact, and it gave him courage to accept the offered help. He mounted Solomon—as the donkey was called, for some unknown reason—and for a time enjoyed the relief from the toil of walking. He became quite cheerful, and was disposed to congratulate himself upon his success, when an unfortunate fit of obstinacy came over Solomon. It dawned upon the sagacious animal that it would be much easier to travel without a load, and, turning his head, he looked thoughtfully at his rider.

"Get up, Solomon!" exclaimed Peabody, striking the animal on the haunch.

Solomon felt that this was taking a personal liberty and he stood stock-still, his face expressive of obstinacy.

"Why don't he go on?" asked Peabody, perplexed.

"He's stopping to rest," said Tom. "I am afraid he is lazy."

"Go along!" exclaimed Peabody, again using his whip. But the animal did not budge.

"This is really very provoking," murmured the rider. "What shall I do?"

"Don't give up to him," advised one of the company. "Here, let me whip him."

"Thank you; I wish you would."

It was an unlucky speech. The other complied with the request, and delivered his blow with such emphasis that Solomon's equanimity was seriously disturbed. He dashed forward with what speed he could command, Mr. Peabody holding on, in a sort of panic, till he was a hundred yards away. Then he stopped suddenly, lowering his head, and his hapless rider was thrown over it, landing some distance in advance. Solomon looked at him with grim humor, if a donkey is capable of such a feeling, and, apparently satisfied, turned and walked complacently back to the wagon-train.

Several of the company, witnessing the accident, hurried forward to Mr. Peabody's assistance. They picked him up, groaning and bewildered, but not much hurt.

"None of your limbs broken," said Miles. "I guess you'll do."

"I'm badly shaken up," moaned Peabody.

"It will do you good," said Miles bluntly.

"You had better try it yourself, then," retorted Peabody, with unwonted spirit.

"Good for you!" laughed Miles. "I suspect you are not dead yet."

"What made you put me on such a vicious beast?" asked Peabody of the owner.

"Solomon isn't vicious; he's only lazy," said Chapman. "We can't blame him much."

"I think he ought to be shot," said Peabody, painfully rising, and stretching out one limb after another to make sure that none was broken.

"You seem to be unlucky, Mr. Peabody," said Tom.

"I'm always unlucky," moaned Peabody.

"Will you ride again, Mr. Peabody?" asked Chapman. "I'll catch Solomon for you, if you like."

"Not for fifty dollars!" exclaimed Peabody energetically. "It is as much as anybody's life is worth."

"If you will make me the same offer, I won't refuse, Mr. Chapman," said Tom.

"You can mount him, if you like."

Tom waited for no second invitation. He approached Solomon cautiously, vaulted upon his back, and the animal, disagreeably surprised, had recourse to the same tactics which had proved so successful in the case of the young man from Boston. But he had a different kind of a rider to deal with. Tom had been accustomed to ride from the time he was six years of age, and he stuck to his seat in spite of all attempts to dislodge him. So far from feeling alarmed, he enjoyed the struggle.

"It's no go, Solomon!" he said gaily. "You've tackled the wrong customer this time. Better make up your mind to go as I want you to."

Solomon came to the same conclusion after a time. He had tried his ordinary tactics, and they had proved unavailing. The struggle had been witnessed with some interest by the other members of the company.

"You can ride, youngster; that's a fact," said the owner of the donkey. "I didn't say anything, but I rather expected to see you follow Peabody."

"I'm used to riding," said Tom modestly. "Mr. Peabody is not."

"Every lad ought to know how to ride," said Ferguson. "It's a deal manlier than smoking a cigar, to my thinking."

"I can smoke a cigar," said Peabody, desirous probably of appearing to possess one manly accomplishment.

"You will hardly find it as useful as riding in the new country you are going to, Mr. Peabody," said Ferguson dryly.

"I'd give something for a good cigar myself," said John Miles.

"I prefer riding," said Tom. "I never smoked a cigar in my life."

"You are just as well off without it, my lad," said the Scotchman. "It don't do men any good, and always harms boys."

Peabody never again mounted Solomon. One trial was sufficient, and, footsore and lame as he was, he decidedly preferred to walk.



CHAPTER XXVII.

THE LOST HORSE.

Day followed day, and every sunset found the party from eighteen to twenty miles nearer the land of gold. They had not yet been molested by Indians, though on more than one occasion they had encountered the remains of those whom the savages had ruthlessly slaughtered. When they witnessed such a spectacle they were moved less by fear than indignation.

"I didn't think I should ever thirst for a fellow creature's blood," said John Miles; "but if I could meet the savages that did this bloody work, I would shoot them down like dogs, and sleep all the more soundly for it. How is it with you, friend Ferguson?"

"I am inclined to agree with you," said the Scotchman. "When an Indian makes himself a beast of prey he should be treated accordingly."

"Are there any Indians in California?" asked Peabody nervously.

"I don't think we shall have any trouble with them there, Mr. Peabody," said Ferguson.

"Then I wish I was there now. It must be terrible to be scalped;" and the young man from Boston shuddered.

"I don't think it would be an agreeable surgical operation," said Fletcher, who had just come up. "Let us hope that we shall not be called upon to undergo it."

The next morning, when breakfast was over, and the party was preparing to start, an unpleasant discovery was made. One of the most valuable horses was missing. He must have slipped his tether during the night, and strayed away; as they were situated, the loss of such an animal would be felt.

"He can't be far away," said Fletcher. "Some of us must go after him."

"Let Peabody mount the mustang, and undertake to find him," suggested John Miles, winking at the captain.

"Mr. Peabody," said Captain Fletcher gravely, "will you undertake to recover the horse? We shall all feel under great obligations to you."

"I—I hope you will excuse me, Captain Fletcher," stammered Peabody, in great alarm. "I know I couldn't find the horse. I shouldn't know where to look."

"This is where he got away. You can see his trail in the grass," said Scott, a young man from Indiana. "All you will have to do will be to follow the trail, Mr. Peabody."

"I'm very near-sighted," pleaded Peabody. "I should lose my way, and never come back."

"Carrying the mustang with you? That would be a loss indeed," said John Miles pointedly. "On the whole, Captain Fletcher, we had better excuse Mr. Peabody."

"Mr. Peabody is excused," said the leader.

"Thank you," said Peabody, looking relieved. "I would go, I am sure, if I could do any good; but I know I couldn't."

"Who will volunteer?" asked Fletcher.

"Let me go," said Tom eagerly.

"You are not afraid of losing your way, Tom?" said Miles.

"No; or if I do, I will find it again."

"That boy is more of a man now than Peabody will ever be," said Miles, in a low voice to Ferguson.

"That he is," said the Scotchman, who was a firm friend of our young hero. "There is the making of a noble man in him."

"I believe you."

"I have no objection to your going, Tom," said Fletcher; "but it is better that you should have company. Who will go with the boy?"

"I," said several, among them John Miles and Henry Scott.

"You may go, Scott," said the leader. "I have work for Miles at camp. The sooner you get started the better."

"All right, captain. Come along, Tom."

The two were in the saddle before two minutes had passed, and, guided by the trail, struck out upon the prairie.

Scott was a tall, broad-shouldered young farmer, not over twenty-five, strong and athletic, and reported, the best runner, wrestler, and vaulter in the party. Tom was very well pleased to have his company.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

INDIAN CASUISTRY.

"I should like to know when the horse got away," said Scott, as he and Tom rode on side by side; "then we could calculate how far we should have to go before overtaking him."

"He wouldn't be likely to travel all the time, would he?" asked Tom.

"Probably not. He may have gone only a mile or two. Are your eyes good?"

"Pretty good."

"Look about, then, and see if you can anywhere see anything of the rover."

Scott and Tom, drawing rein, looked searchingly in all directions; but nowhere was the lost animal visible.

"Somebody may have found him," suggested Tom.

"That may be. If so, we have a harder job before us."

The prairie was not quite level, but was what is called a rolling prairie, and this limited the view. Otherwise it would have been easy for a person, whose sight was keen, to have distinguished an object as large as a horse at a distance of many miles.

"Are you sure we are on the right track, Mr. Scott?" asked Tom.

"Yes, I can see by the trail."

"I can see no hoof-marks."

"Not just here; but look closely, and you will see slight marks of disturbance in the grass. As long as these signs last we need have no doubts as to our being on the right track."

"The same trail will lead us back to our party," said Tom.

"Yes, I shouldn't like to part from them in this country. It would be rather a bad place to be lost without provisions."

They had ridden about five miles, when the trail became clearer and better defined. In fact, the marks in the prairie grass appeared more numerous than a single horse would be likely to make.

Scott looked grave.

"We will halt here a moment, Tom," he said. "I want to examine the trail."

"Shall I get off my horse?"

"No; it is not necessary."

Scott dismounted and walked about, closely examining the marks in the grass.

Finally he looked up.

"I begin to think it doubtful whether we shall recover Dan," he said.

"Why?"

"He has been found and carried off," was the reply. "Do you see the double trail?"

"Yes," said Tom, after a brief examination.

"It means that a horseman has found Dan, and led him away. This rather complicates matters."

"What do you think we had better do?" inquired Tom.

"That requires consideration. I could tell better if I knew by whom the horse had been found. The finder may be honest, and would, in that case, surrender it on our appearing, and claiming him. But, again, he may be dishonest, and resist our claims."

"We are two to one," said Tom stoutly.

"We don't know that. The man may belong to a party."

"The members of his party would know that the horse was not his."

"Quite true, if the party was composed of decent persons, like our own; but that is not certain."

"Then will you go back without Dan?" asked Tom.

"I don't want to do that. In fact I should be ashamed to. Captain Fletcher would conclude that he might as well have sent Peabody; and I am not anxious to be classed with him."

"Nor I," said Tom, smiling.

"So the only thing is to push on, and make what discoveries we may."

"All right," said Tom cheerfully.

They rode on for a couple of miles, having no difficulty in following the trail, until they reached the brow of a small eminence. Here they were greeted with a sight that startled them. A group of a dozen Indians were reclining on the grass, with their horses fastened near them. Startled as they were, they detected the animal of which they were in search among the Indian horses.

"We've walked into a trap with our eyes open, Tom," said Scott, halting his horse mechanically. His bronzed face was a little pale, for he knew well the character of the savages before him, the hopelessness of escape, and the terrible fate that probably awaited them.

"Shall we turn and fly, Mr. Scott?" asked Tom hurriedly.

"It would be of no use, Tom. We must stay and face the music."

Upon the appearance of the two friends the Indians had sprung to their feet, and the colloquy was scarcely over before there was an Indian at each bridle-rein. They made signs, easily understood, for Tom and Scott to dismount.

"Stop a minute," said Scott, with creditable coolness, considering the great peril in which he knew himself to be. "Is there any one here who speaks English?"

An elderly Indian stepped forward quickly, and said, "Speak, white man. I speak English a little."

"Good," said Scott; "then I want you to tell your friends here that I came after a horse that left our camp last night. Do you understand?"

The Indian inclined his head.

"There he is," continued Scott, pointing with his finger to Dan. "Give him to me, and I will go away."

The interpreter turned to his companions, and repeated what Scott had said. Evidently it was not favorably received, as Scott could see by the menacing looks that were turned upon him. He waited, with some anxiety, for the answer to his claim. He had to wait for some minutes, during which the Indians appeared to be consulting. It came at last.

"The white man has lied," said the Indian sententiously. "The horse is ours."

"That's pretty cool, eh, Tom?" said Scott, provoked; not only by the denial of his claim, but by the charge of falsehood.

Tom did not answer, thinking silence more prudent.

The Indian interpreter looked suspiciously from one to the other. He understood what "cool" meant, but was not familiar with the special sense in which Scott used it.

"I will prove that the horse is ours," said Scott. "Here, Dan!"

The horse whinnied, and tried to reach Scott, upon hearing his name pronounced.

"There," said Scott triumphantly, "you see the horse knows me. I have not lied."

The speech was an imprudent one. Indians are not lawyers, but they understand the familiar saying, that "possession is nine points of the law." That the horse was a valuable one they understood; and they had no intention of parting with him. Still more, they looked with covetous eyes at the horses ridden by Scott and the boy, and they had already made up their minds to seize them also.

"The white man is a magician," said the interpreter. "He has bewitched the horse. The horse is ours. He has always belonged to us."

"It's no use, Tom," said Scott. "They are bound to keep Dan, and I don't see how we can help it. We had better give him up, and get away if we can. All the same, the fellow is an outrageous liar."

He spoke in a low voice, and the interpreter, though listening attentively, did not quite catch what was said.

"I guess you are right," said Tom.

Scott turned to the interpreter.

"Well, if you think it is yours, squire, I reckon you will keep it. So we'll say good morning, and go."

He pulled the rein, but the Indian at his bridle did not let go.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said Scott. "We are going."

"White man must stay," said the Indian interpreter decisively.

"Why?" demanded Scott impatiently.

"He has tried to steal Indian's horse," said the wily savage.

"Well, by gosh; that's turning the tables with a vengeance," ejaculated Scott. "They're rather ahead of white rogues, Tom. Will you let the boy go?" he asked.

"White boy stay, too," answered the interpreter, after a brief reference to the leader of the Indian party.

"Tom," said Scott rapidly, and not appearing to be excited, lest his excitement should lead to suspicion, "none of them are mounted. Lash your horse, and tear from the grasp of the man that holds him; then follow me. It is our only chance."

Tom's heart beat rapidly. He knew that all his nerve was called for; but he did not falter.

"Give the signal," he said.

"One, two, three!" said Scott rapidly. Simultaneously both lashed their horses. The startled animals sprang forward. The grips of the Indians, who were not suspecting any attempts at escape, were already relaxed, and before they were fully aware of what was intended our two friends were galloping away.



CHAPTER XXIX.

A RACE FOR LIFE.

The Indians were taken by surprise. They so outnumbered their intended captives that they had not anticipated an attempt at escape. But they had no intention of losing their prey. There was a howl of surprise and disappointment; then they sprang for their horses, and, with little delay, were on the track of our two friends.

The delay was small, but it was improved by Scott and Tom. Pressing their animals to their highest speed they gained a lead of several hundred feet before their savage pursuers had fairly started. It was well that Tom was a good rider, or he might not have been able to keep his seat. In fact, he had never ridden so rapidly before: but he felt that he was riding for his life, and was only anxious to ride faster. Scott had felt a little anxious on this point; but his anxiety vanished when he saw how easily and fearlessly his boy companion kept at his side.

"Well done, Tom!" he said, as they flew over the prairie. "Keep up this pace, and we will escape yet."

"I can do it, if my horse holds out," returned Tom briefly.

Scott looked over his shoulder, and, brave man as he was, it almost made him shudder. The whole party of Indians was on his track. He could see their dusky faces, distorted by wrath, and the longing for a savage revenge. He knew that Tom and he had little to hope for if they were caught. Fortunately their horses were strong and fleet, and not likely to break down.

"Ride for your life, Tom!" he shouted. "They will show us no mercy if they catch us."

"All right, Mr. Scott!" said Tom, his face flushed, and panting with excitement. If he had not felt that so much depended upon it; if he could have thrust out from his mind the sense of the awful peril in which he stood—he would have enjoyed the furious pace at which his horse was carrying him.

The horses ridden by the Indians were not equal in speed or endurance to those which the two friends bestrode. They were fresher indeed, but they did not make up for the difference between them. There was one exception, however: Dan, the stolen horse, was not only equal to either of their horses, but had the advantage of being fresher. This, after a while, began to tell. It was ridden by a young Indian brave, a brother of the leader. Soon he drew away from his companions, and, yard by yard, lessened the distance between himself and the pursued. At the end of three miles he was close upon them, and at least fifty rods in advance of his comrades. Scott saw this in one of his backward glances.

"Tom," said he, "the redskin on Dan is overhauling us."

"Will he catch us?"

"I mean to catch him," said Scott coolly.

Tom did not need to ask for an explanation. Scott wheeled round, took hasty but accurate aim at the Indian, and fired. The hapless warrior reeled in his saddle, loosed his hold of the reins, and fell to the ground, while his horse, continuing in his course, his pace accelerated by fright, soon galloped alongside of Scott. There was a howl of rage from the main body of Indians, who saw the fate of their comrade, without being able to help him.

"Now, Tom, ride as you never rode before!" shouted Scott. "We will circumvent those Indian devils yet, and bring Dan safe into camp. Come along, Dan, old fellow; you're doing nobly."

Dan recognized the familiar voice. He entered into the spirit of the race, and, relieved from the weight of his rider, dashed forward with increased speed, till he led, and Scott and Tom were forced to follow.

The Indians were mad with rage. Their comrade had received a fatal wound. They saw the round hole in his breast, from which the life-blood was gushing, and they thirsted for vengeance.

Should two palefaces, one of them a boy, escape from them? That would be a disgrace, indeed; the blood of their brother called for blood in return.

Could they have inspired their horses with the same spirit which animated themselves, they might, perhaps, have overtaken their intended captives; but, happily for our two friends, the horses were less interested than their riders.

The danger was well-nigh over. It was scarcely two miles to the camp. There they would be so re-enforced that the Indians would not venture an attack. That was the goal they had in view. Already they could see in the distance the wagon-train, ready for a start. They were surely safe now. But at this unlucky moment Tom's horse stumbled. The motion was so rapid that he could not retain his seat. He was thrown over the horse's head, and lay stunned and insensible upon the ground. His horse kept on his way to the camp.



CHAPTER XXX.

TOM BECOMES AN INDIAN.

Scott did not immediately notice Tom's mishap. The boy had shown himself so good a rider that such an accident had not occurred to him as likely to happen. When he did look back there was already a considerable distance between them. In fact, Tom lay midway between the Indians and himself.

What was he to do?

If he returned there was no hope of rescuing Tom; and he would infallibly fall into the hands of the Indian pursuers. In that case his fate was sealed. He had killed an Indian warrior, and his life would pay the forfeit. By going on he could head a rescuing party from the camp. His heart ached for Tom. It was hard to leave him in the hands of the savage foe; but Tom was a boy, and there was hope that he would be spared; so he felt that it was better to continue his flight.

There was a shout of fierce joy when the Indians saw Tom's fall. They would have preferred to capture Scott, for he it was who had killed their comrade; but they were glad to have one prisoner. They reined up their horses, and halted beside the still insensible boy. They held a brief consultation, and decided not to continue the pursuit. They could see the encampment, which Scott was sure to reach before he could be overtaken. They could not tell the number of the party to which he belonged; but, being few in numbers themselves, the risk would be a hazardous one. They decided to retire with their prisoner. Tom was lifted to a seat in front of one of the party, and they rode leisurely back.

This was the position in which our hero found himself when he roused from his stupor. One glance revealed to him the whole. His heart sank within him. They might kill him. Remembering the ghastly sights he had seen on his trip across the plains, he thought it likely that they would. Life was sweet to Tom. To what boy of sixteen is it not? It seemed hard to be cut off in the threshold of an active career, and by savage hands. But there was an additional pang in the thought that now he would be unable to help his father. The result of his plan would only be to impose an additional burden upon the modest home which his father found it so hard to keep up. Tom sighed; and, for the first time in his life, he felt discouraged.

He looked about him, scanning the dark, grave faces, and read no hope or encouragement in any. Finally the Indians came to a halt at their old camping-ground, and Tom was lifted from the horse. He was placed upon the ground, in the center of the group. Then followed a consultation. From the glances directed toward him Tom understood that he was the subject of deliberation. In fact, his fate was being decided.

It was certainly a trying ordeal for our young hero. He was not sure of half an hour's life. An unfavorable decision might be followed by immediate execution. Tom felt that his best course was to remain perfectly passive. He could not understand what was said; but we are able to acquaint the reader with the general purport of the conference.

Several of the Indians favored immediate death.

"Our brother's blood calls for vengeance," they said. "The white boy must die."

"The boy did not kill him," said others. "It was the white warrior who spilled our brother's blood. He must be pursued and slain."

"What, then, shall be done with the boy? Shall he go?"

"No; we will keep him. He has strong limbs. We will adopt him into our tribe. He will make a brave warrior."

"He shall be my brother," said the chief. "I will take him in place of my brother who is dead."

There was a low murmur of approval. Even those who had first recommended the infliction of death seemed to have changed their minds. They looked at the boy as he lay stretched out upon the ground. He was stout, comely, and strongly made. He had proved that he was an admirable rider. If he should join them he would grow up into a warrior who would do credit to their tribe.

So the matter was settled. The only thing that remained was to acquaint the prisoner with the decision.

The interpreter approached Tom, and said, "White boy, you are our captive. Why should we not kill you?"

"You can if you wish," answered Tom; "but why should you kill me? I have done you no harm."

"Our brother is killed. He lies dead upon the plain."

"I did not kill him," said Tom.

"The white boy speaks truth. He did not kill our brother, but his white friend took his life."

"You ought not to kill me for that," said Tom, gathering courage, for he inferred he was to live.

"The white boy speaks truth, and therefore he shall live, but he must join us. He must live with us, hunt with us, and fight for us."

"You want me to become an Indian!" ejaculated Tom.

"We will take you in place of the warrior that is gone," said the interpreter.

Tom looked thoughtful. He did not enjoy the prospect before him, but it was, at all events, better than death. While there was life there was hope of escape. He concluded to make one appeal for freedom, and, if that was denied, to accept the proposal.

"I have a father and mother far away," he said; "I have brothers and a sister, who will mourn for me. My father is poor; he needs my help. Let me go back to them."

The interpreter communicated Tom's words to his companions, but it was easy to see that they were not favorably received. The original advocates of the death penalty looked at our hero with hostile eyes, and he saw that he had made a mistake.

"The white boy must become one of us; he must take our brother's place, or he must die," said the interpreter.

Tom very sensibly concluded that it would be better to live with the Indians than to be killed, and signified his acceptance of the offer. Upon this the Indians formed a circle about him, and broke into a monotonous chant, accompanied with sundry movements of the limbs, which appeared to be their way of welcoming him into their tribe.

It seemed like a dream to Tom. He found it very hard to realize his position, so unexpectedly had he been placed in it. He could not help wondering what the family at home would say when they should learn that he had joined an Indian tribe far beyond the Mississippi.



CHAPTER XXXI.

TOM GIVES A MAGICAL SOIREE.

Tom had no intention of passing his life with the Indians. In joining them he submitted to necessity. It gave him a respite, and a chance to devise plans of escape. He understood very well that, if he made the attempt and failed, his life would be the forfeit. But Tom determined to take the risk, though his life was sweet to him; but, of course, he must wait for a favorable opportunity.

There was a chance of his being rescued by his party, but this chance was diminished by the decision of his Indian captors to break camp, and proceed in a northerly direction, while the course of the emigrant train was, of course, westward. Little time was wasted. The Indians mounted their horses, Tom being put on the horse of the fallen brave. The leader put himself at the head, and Tom was placed in the center, surrounded by Indians. It was evident that they were not willing to trust him yet. They meant to afford him no chance of escape.

As the only one of the band with whom Tom could converse was the interpreter, who rode at the head with the chief, he rode in silence. The Indians on either side of him never turned their heads toward him, but, grave and impassive, rode on, looking straight before them.

"This is easier than walking," thought Tom; "but I would a hundred times rather walk with Scott, or Miles, than ride in my present company."

They rode for three hours, and then dismounted for the midday rest.

Nothing had been seen or heard of his old friends, and that made Tom anxious and thoughtful.

"They have gone on without me, leaving me to my fate," he said to himself, and the reflection gave him a pang. He had been on such pleasant and friendly terms with the whole party, that this cold desertion—as it appeared—wounded him. The young are more sensitive in such cases than their elders. As we grow older we cease to expect too much of those whose interests differ from our own.

Tom felt that his fate was more and more bound up with the Indians. If some days should pass before he could escape, he would find himself in an embarrassing condition. Suppose he got away safely, he would find himself in a pathless plain, without provisions, and with no other guide than the sun. If he should meet with no party, he would die of starvation. The prospect seemed by no means bright.

I am bound to say that, for a time, Tom, in spite of his bright, sanguine temperament, was greatly depressed; but his spirits were elastic.

"I won't give up to despair," he said to himself. "Something tells me that I shall come out right. I must wait and watch my chances."

Upon this his face brightened, and his air, which had been listless, became more animated. The Indians glanced at him, with grave approval. They concluded that he was becoming reconciled to living among them.

When the simple midday meal was placed upon the ground, and the Indians gathered around it in a sitting posture, Tom followed their example, and did full justice to the dinner. In fact, he had taken so much exercise that he felt hungry. Besides, he knew that he must keep up his strength, if he wished to escape; so, instead of keeping aloof in sullen dissatisfaction, he displayed a "healthy appetite."

After resting several hours the Indians resumed their journey, but did not travel far. They were in no hurry. They had no long journey to make across the continent. They only wished to go far enough to be safe from attack by a rescuing party of Tom's friends. Again they encamped, and this time, from the preparations made, he understood that it was for the night.

One thing Tom could not help noticing—the silence of these red children of the plains. They seemed to make no conversation with each other, except on necessary matters, and then their words were few in number, replies being often made in a monosyllable.

"They don't seem very social," thought Tom. "I suppose they have nothing to talk about. I wonder if the squaws ever have sewing-circles. If they have, they can't be much like Yankee women if they don't find plenty to talk about."

The silence became oppressive. Tom would have liked to take a walk, but he knew that this would not be allowed. It would be thought that he wanted to escape. Yet to sit mute hour after hour seemed to Tom intolerably stupid. A bold idea came to him. He would try to afford them some amusement.

Accordingly, he said to the interpreter: "Shall I show you a trick?"

The interpreter communicated the proposal to his comrades, and permission was granted.

Tom took from his pocket a penny. He explained to the interpreter that he would swallow the penny, and make it come out at his nose—a common boy's trick. The Indians, to whom this also was communicated, looked curious and incredulous, and Tom proceeded.

Now, I am not going to explain how Tom accomplished the illusion. That I leave to the ingenuity of my boy readers to discover. It is enough to say that he succeeded, to the great amazement of his copper-colored spectators. There was a chorus of ughs! and Tom was requested to repeat the trick.

He did so, the Indians being as puzzled as before.

Now, Indians are, in many respects, like children. They displayed, on this occasion, a childish curiosity and wonder that amused Tom. They insisted on his opening his month, to ascertain whether there was any hidden avenue from his mouth to his nose, and found, to their surprise, that his mouth was like their own. Then one of the Indians volunteered to try the experiment, and nearly choked himself with the penny, which, it must be remembered, was one of the large, old-fashioned, copper coins, in circulation before the war. It cannot be said that he turned black in the face, but he certainly gasped, and rolled his eyes in a manner that alarmed his friends, and they instinctively looked to Tom for help. Tom was equal to the emergency. He rose hastily, slapped the Indian forcibly on the back, and the cent was ejected from his mouth.

There was another chorus of ughs! and it was evident that Tom had risen vastly in their opinion. They looked upon him as a white magician, and even were a little afraid that he might work them injury in some way. But Tom's frank, good-humored manner reassured them. They asked him, through the interpreter, if he could perform any other tricks. Tom knew a few, that he had learned out of an old tattered book which had fallen in his way at home; and such as he had facilities for he attempted, to the great delight of his new friends. Tom was becoming popular; and even those who had at first recommended death were glad that his life had been spared.



CHAPTER XXXII.

TOM'S ESCAPE.

Night came, and the Indian camp was hushed and still. It was long before Tom went to sleep. Generally he was a good sleeper, but his mind at present was too active for slumber. "How long is this strange life going to last?" he asked himself. "How long am I to be exiled from civilization?" This was more easily asked than answered.

When he slept, his sleep was troubled. He dreamed that Lawrence Peabody was a captive, and that the chief was about to scalp him, when suddenly he awoke. He could not at first tell where he was, but a glance revealed the disheartening truth.

He must have slept several hours, for the gray dawn was creeping up the sky, heralding sunrise. He leaned on his elbow, and bent a searching glance upon his companions. They were stretched motionless upon the ground, hushed in the insensibility of sleep. "Are they asleep?" Tom asked himself. He satisfied himself that the slumber was genuine, and there sprang up in his heart the wild hope of escape. A few rods distant the horses were fastened. Could he unfasten and mount one before any of them a wakened?

Tom's heart beat quick with excitement. He knew that he ran a fearful risk; but he made up his mind that now was his time.

Slowly, and without noise, he raised himself to his feet. As he stood erect, he closely scanned the sleepers. There was not a motion. With stealthy steps he crept to the horses. He selected the one he had ridden the day before, and unloosed him. The animal gave a slight whinny, and Tom's heart was in his throat. But no one stirred. He quickly mounted the animal, and walked him for a few rods, then gave him a loose rein, and was soon speeding away. Just then the sun rose, and this guided him in the direction he was to take.

He had got a mile away, when, looking back through the clear air, he saw, to his dismay, that his flight had been discovered. The Indians were mounting their horses.

"I must gallop for life," thought Tom. "They will kill me if they catch me."

He urged on his horse by all the means in his power. Luckily it was one of the two fleetest horses the Indians possessed, the other being ridden by their leader.

Tom's hope was sustained by this fact, which he had proof of the day before.

Rather to his surprise, he did not feel as much frightened as he anticipated. He felt excited, and this was his prominent feeling. Probably he felt like a soldier in the heat of battle.

But the odds against Tom were terrible, and his chance of escape seemed very slender. Behind him was a band of savages, accustomed to the plains, strong, wily, enduring, and persistent. He was new to the plains, and a mere boy. Moreover, he did not know where to find his party. There were no sign-boards upon the prairies, but a vast, uniform expanse stretching farther than the eye could reach.

Inch by inch, foot by foot, the Indians gained upon him, the leader considerably in advance.

Even if he alone were to overtake Tom, our hero would of course be no match for a strong, full-grown warrior, more especially as he had no weapon with him. By some mischance he had left it in the camp.

Tom's heart began to fail him. His horse could not always, perhaps not long, keep up his headlong speed. Then would follow capture, and a painful death.

"It's hard," thought Tom sadly; "hard for me and for my dear parents and brothers and sisters. Why did I ever leave home?"

He turned in the saddle, and saw the Indian leader, evidently nearer. But he saw something else. He saw a herd of buffaloes, thousands in number, impetuously rushing across the plain from the west. Their speed was great. They seemed to be blindly following their leader.

"Good heavens!" ejaculated Tom, in great excitement; "the Indians are in their path. If the herd does not stop, they will be destroyed."

The Indians were fully aware of their great danger. They knew the plains well, and the terrible, resistless power of these wild herds when once on the march. They no longer thought of Tom, but of their own safety. But the buffaloes were close at hand. They were sweeping on like a whirlwind. The Indians could only ride on, and trust to clear them. But their pathway was wide. It reached to within a furlong of where Tom was riding. They never paused; some of the animals in the advance might have veered to the right or left on seeing the Indians, but the pressure from behind prevented. The savages saw their fate, and it inspired them with more dread than an encounter with white foes. Finally, they halted in despair, and their fate overtook them. Riders and steeds were overthrown as by a flash of lightning. The dark, shaggy herd did not stop, but dashed on. Tom, in awe and excitement, halted his horse, and watched the terrible sight. He could not but sympathize with his late companions, though he knew they would have taken his life.

The buffaloes passed on, but left no life behind them. The Indians and their horses were all trampled to death. Tom was alone upon the plains.

He thanked God in his heart for his self-deliverance; though he shuddered at the manner in which it was wrought. He, too, had been near being overwhelmed, but, through God's mercy, had escaped.

But for what had he escaped? Unless he found his own party, or some other, he would starve to death, or might fall into the power of some other tribe of Indians. He must ride on.

An hour later he thought he saw in the distance a solitary horseman. It might be an Indian; but that was not likely, for they generally traveled in numbers. It was more likely to be a white man. Any white man would be a friend, and could guide him to safety, unless he were himself lost. At any rate, there seemed but one course to follow, and that to ride toward the stranger.

When Tom drew near his heart was filled with sudden joy, for, in the new arrival, he recognized John Miles. Miles was no less delighted.

"Tom, old boy," he said, "is it you? How did you get away? I was afraid we should never see you again."

"I feared so myself," said Tom; "but I have been saved in a wonderful manner. Has the train moved on?"

"Do you think we would go on without you? Not a man was willing to stir till you were found. Even Peabody, though afraid of falling into the hands of the Indians, and losing his scalp, was in favor of our waiting. The boys are very anxious about you."

Tom heard this with satisfaction. The esteem of our friends and associates is dear to us all; and it is always sad to think that we may be forgotten in absence.

"But you have not told me of your escape, Tom," said Miles. "Where are the Indians who captured you?"

"All dead!" answered Tom solemnly.

"Good heavens! You don't mean to say——"

"That I killed them? Oh, no! Look over there! Can you see anything?"

Miles looked earnestly.

"I think I see upon the ground some men and horses."

"It is the Indians. They were pursuing me when they were trampled to death by a herd of buffaloes."

"Wonderful!" ejaculated Miles. "I have heard of such things, but hardly believed in them."

"It was a terrible sight," said Tom soberly. "I wish I could have been saved in some other way."

"It was you or they," said Miles sententiously. "It is well as it is."

* * * * *

They were warmly welcomed at the camp. Tom was looked upon as one raised from the dead; and the particulars of his wonderful escape were called for again and again.

"You are sure they didn't scalp you, Tom?" asked Mr. Peabody.

"Feel and see, Mr. Peabody," said Tom, smiling. "I believe my hair is pretty firm."

"I wouldn't have been in your shoes for all the gold in California," said Peabody fervently.

"I believe you, Mr. Peabody. Indeed, I think I may say that I wouldn't be placed in the same situation again for all the gold in the world."

"Tom," said Scott, "you are bound to succeed."

"What makes you think so?"

"You have shown so much pluck and coolness that you are sure to get along."

"I hope so, I am sure, for my father's sake."

* * * * *

Some weeks later a wagon-train was seen slowly climbing a mountain pass on the crest of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. They reached the summit, and, looking eagerly to the westward, saw the land of gold at their feet. They had been months in reaching it. Now it lay spread before them, glorious in the sunlight.

"Yonder lies the promised land, my lad," said Ferguson. "It remains to be seen whether we shall be rewarded for our long and toilsome journey."

"If hard work will win success, I mean to succeed," said Tom stoutly.

"I don't see any gold," said Lawrence Peabody, with a disappointed air.

"Did you think it grew on trees, Mr. Peabody?" asked Scott sarcastically.

"I should like to stop a week at a first-class hotel before getting to work," remarked Peabody. "I don't like roughing it."

"We will leave you at the first hotel of that sort we meet. Now, boys, gather about me, and give three rousing cheers for California."

Thus spoke Miles, and swung his hat. The cheers were given with a will, and the wagon-train commenced the descent.

THE END.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

The original text did not include a table of contents. One was added to assist the reader.

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 61, word "don't" added to text. (I don't doubt)

Page 66, "dosen't" changed to "doesn't" (it doesn't look to)

Page 105, a repeated sentence was removed. ("I'm out of luck, and out of cash, Vincent.")

Page 207, "twelev" changed to "twelve" (pointed to twelve)