Part 30 (1/2)
”Well, gentlemen, I wish you both good luck. What will you take? I have a superior article of whisky that I can recommend.”
”Thank you, but I beg you will excuse me, sir,” said Ferguson. ”I never drink.”
”Nor I,” said Tom; ”but I am much obliged to you all the same.”
”Well, that beats me,” said the landlord. ”Why, you don't know what's good. You ain't a minister, are you?” turning to Ferguson.
”I have not that high distinction, my friend. I am an unworthy member of the church of Scotland.”
”I don't think your countrymen generally refuse whisky.”
”So much the worse for them. They are only too fond of it. My own brother died a miserable death, brought on by his love of liquor.”
”Then I won't press you; but I say, strangers, you won't find many of your way of thinking in the country you're going to.”
”I don't doubt he's right, Tom,” said Ferguson to Tom, as they entered the chamber a.s.signed to them. ”We may not be together always. I hope you won't be led away by them that offer you strong drink. It would be the ruin of you, boy.”
”Don't fear for me, Mr. Ferguson. I have no taste for it.”
”Sometimes it's hard to refuse.”
”It won't be hard for me.”
”I am glad to hear you say that, my lad. You are young, strong, and industrious. You'll succeed, I'll warrant, if you steer clear of that quicksand.”
Later in the day the two friends began to make inquiries about overland travel. They had no wish to remain long at St. Joe. Both were impatient to reach the land of gold, and neither cared to incur the expense of living at the hotel any longer than was absolutely necessary. Luckily this probably would not be long, for nearly every day a caravan set out on the long journey, and doubtless they would be able to join on agreeing to pay their share of the expenses. It was a great undertaking, for the distance to be traversed was over two thousand miles, through an unsettled country, some of it a desert, with the chances of an attack by hostile Indians, and the certainty of weeks, and perhaps months, of privation and fatigue. Mr. Donald Ferguson looked forward to it with some apprehension; for, with characteristic Scotch caution, he counted the cost of whatever he undertook, and did not fail to set before his mind all the contingencies and dangers attending it.
”It's a long journey we're going on, my lad,” he said, ”and we may not reach the end of it in safety.”
”It isn't best to worry about that, Mr. Ferguson,” said Tom cheerfully.
”You are right, my lad. It's not for the best to worry, but it is well to make provision for what may happen. Now, if anything happens to me, I am minded to make you my executor.”
”But don't you think I am too young, Mr. Ferguson?”
”You are o'er young, I grant, but you are a lad of good parts, temperate, steady, and honest. I have no other friend I feel like trusting.”
”I hope, Mr. Ferguson, there will be no occasion to render you any such service, but whatever I can I will do.”
”It will be very simple. You will take my money, and see that it is sent to my mother, in Glasgow. I will give you her address now, and then, if any sudden fate overtakes me, there will be no trouble. You will know just what to do.”
Tom was flattered by this mark of confidence. It was evident that the cautious Scotchman had formed a very favorable opinion of him, or he would not have selected so young a boy for so important a trust.
”Will you do the same for me, Mr. Ferguson?” he asked, with the sudden reflection that, young as he was, there was no absolute certainty of his living to reach California.
”Surely I will, my lad.”
”If I should die I should want any money I might have left sent to my father.”