Part 11 (1/2)
The supper, which we have described, cost them two and a half dollars-- about ten s.h.i.+llings and sixpence a head, including a gla.s.s of bad brandy; but not including a bottle of stout which Larry, in the ignorance and innocence of his heart, had asked for, and which cost him _three dollars_ extra! An egg, also, which Ned had obtained, cost him a s.h.i.+lling.
”Oh, morther!” exclaimed Larry, ”why didn't ye tell us the price before we tuck them?”
”Why didn't ye ax?” retorted the landlord.
”It's all right,” remarked Maxton. ”Prices vary at the diggings, as you shall find ere long. When provisions run short, the prices become exorbitant; when plentiful, they are more moderate, but they are never _low_. However, men don't mind much, for most diggers have plenty of gold.”
Captain Bunting and Bill Jones were unable to do more than sigh out their amazement and shake their heads, as they left the ranche and mounted their steeds; in doing which the captain accidentally, as usual, drove both spurs into the sides of his mule, which caused it to execute a series of manoeuvres and pirouettes that entertained the company for a quarter of an hour, after which they rode away over the plain.
It was a beautiful country through which they now ambled pleasantly.
Undulating and partially wooded, with fine stretches of meadow land between, from which the scent of myriads of wild-flowers rose on the cool night air. The moon sailed low in a perfectly cloudless sky, casting the shadows of the hors.e.m.e.n far before them as they rode, and clothing hill and dale, bush and tree, with a soft light, as if a cloud of silver gauze had settled down upon the scene. The incident in the ranche was quickly banished, and each traveller committed himself silently to the full enjoyment of the beauties around him--beauties which appeared less like reality than a vision of the night.
CHAPTER NINE.
A NIGHT RIDE IN THE WOODS--THE ENCAMPMENT--LARRY'S FIRST ATTEMPT TO DIG FOR GOLD--AN ALARM--A SUSPICIOUS STRANGER--QUEER CREATURES.
In less than two hours the travellers reached the second ranche, which was little better, in appearance or accommodation, than the one they had left. Having no funds, they merely halted to water their cattle, and then pushed forward.
The country became more and more undulating and broken as they advanced, and beyond the second ranche a.s.sumed the appearance of a hill country.
The valleys were free from trees, though here and there occurred dense thickets of underwood, in which Maxton told them that grizzly-bears loved to dwell--a piece of information that induced most of the party to carry their rifles in a handy position, and glance suspiciously at every shadow. Large oaks and bay-trees covered the lower slopes of the hills, while higher up the white oak and fir predominated.
About an hour after midnight the moon began to descend towards the horizon, and Ned Sinton, who had been unanimously elected commander of the little band, called a halt in the neighbourhood of a rivulet, which flowed round the base of an abrupt cliff whose sides were partially clothed with scrubby bushes.
”We shall encamp here for the night, comrades,” said he, dismounting; ”here is water and food for our nags, a fine piece of greensward to spread our blankets on, and a thick-leaved oak to keep the dew off us.
Now, Maxton, you are an old campaigner, let us see how soon you'll have a fire blazing.”
”I'll have it ready before you get the camp kettles and pans out,”
answered Maxton, fastening his horse to a tree, seizing an axe, and springing into the woods on the margin of the stream.
”And, Captain Bunting,” continued Ned, ”do you water the horses and mules: our vaquero will help you. Jones will unpack the provender. Tom Collins and I will see to getting supper ready.”
”An', may I ax, commodore,” said Larry O'Neil, touching his hat, ”wot _I'm_ to do?”
”Keep out of everybody's way, and do what you pleases, Larry.”
”Which manes, I'm to make myself ginerally useful; so here goes.” And Larry, springing through the bushes, proceeded to fulfil his duties, by seizing a ma.s.sive log, which Maxton had just cut, and, heaving it on his powerful shoulder, carried it to the camp.
Each was immediately busied with his respective duties. Bustling activity prevailed for the s.p.a.ce of a quarter of an hour, the result of which was that, before the moon left them in total darkness, the ruddy glare of a magnificent fire lighted up the scene brilliantly, glanced across the sun-burnt faces and vivid red s.h.i.+rts of our adventurers, as they cl.u.s.tered round it, and threw clouds of sparks in among the leaves of the stout old oak that overspread the camp.
”Now, this is what I call uncommon jolly,” said Captain Bunting, sitting down on his saddle before the cheerful blaze, rubbing his hands, and gazing round, with a smile of the utmost benignity on his broad, hairy countenance.
”It is,” replied Maxton, with an approving nod. ”Do you know, I have often thought, captain, that an Indian life must be a very pleasant one--”
”Av coorse it must,” interrupted Larry, who at that moment was luxuriating in the first rich, voluminous puffs of a newly-filled pipe--”av coorse it must, _if_ it's always like this.”
”Ay,” continued Maxton, ”but that's what I was just going to remark upon--it's _not_ always like this. As a general rule, I have observed, men who are new to backwoods life, live _at first_ in a species of terrestrial paradise. The novelty and the excitement cause them to revel in all that is enjoyable, and to endure with indifference all that is disagreeable; sometimes, even, to take pleasure in shewing how stoically they can put up with discomfort. But after a time the novelty and excitement wear away, and then it is usual to hear the praises of Indian life spoken of immediately before and immediately after supper.
Towards midnight--particularly if it should rain, or mosquitoes be numerous--men change their minds, and begin to dream of home, if they can sleep, or to wish they were there, if they can't.”