CHAPTER XV. THE TRAGEDY AT ROCKY GULCH.

“IT IS now between eight and nine years ago,” said Darius Darke, deliberately, “that I found myself at a mining district in California, then known as Rocky Gulch. With me was a man named James Gibbon. We had brought some money to California, and had greatly increased it by lucky investments in San Francisco. We were well fixed, but expected to increase our wealth in mining.”

“At Rocky Gulch we found several men at work, but the richest claims belonged to John Simpson and Robert Thatcher.”

“My father?”

“Yes, your father. We purchased the greater part of their claims, paying twenty thousand dollars.”

“Then my father’s share was ten thousand dollars?”

“Correct. It proved to be an unwise purchase. The claims were nearly exhausted, though this was unknown to your father and his partner.”

“I am glad father did not know this. I should not like to think he had defrauded you.”

“Your father thought he was giving us full value for our money. Presently Simpson and your father left Rocky Gulch, and a few days later my partner and I became92 satisfied that our claims were practically exhausted. Gibbon requested me to follow your father and Simpson, and, representing the case to them, plead for a return of some part of the money. I set out.”

“Fifty miles away I overtook the men of whom I was in search. It was on a bright moonlight night when I came in sight of the camp. Your father lay stretched out on the ground, and John Simpson was bending over him and rifling his pockets.”

“Is this true?” exclaimed Tom, deeply agitated.

“It is true as gospel. Beside the prostrate man was a large bag of gold dust, which Simpson had laid aside. Concealed from view behind a large tree, I watched, spell-bound, the nefarious work.”

“Why did you not dash forward, and help my father?”

“Because I was wholly unarmed, and I knew that Simpson was well armed. Again, I believed that, so far as your father was concerned, he was beyond help.”

“Was my father dead?” Tom asked, pale with emotion.

“I thought so at the time. I waited till the work of plunder was at an end, and then I uttered a shrill cry. John Simpson heard it and fled, in his fear forgetting the bag of gold dust. He never turned back, but, his fears increased by the thought of his crime, he fled as fast as his limbs could carry him.”

“I approached your father, and bending over anxiously sought to discover whether he was alive or dead. I discovered that he had been stunned by a severe blow on the head, but he was still breathing. I remained beside him all night.”

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“Did he die?” asked Tom, anxiously.

“No, not at once. But the heavy blow had affected his reason, and though he opened his eyes, he did not appear to recognize me, or to understand what had happened. In perplexity I left him to procure assistance and food, but I had to go farther than I anticipated. I ought to say that I took the precaution to excavate a place in the earth, and store therein the bag of gold dust.”

“I was away a couple of hours. When I returned with two men whom I had found two miles away, what was my surprise to find that your father had disappeared. How I was unable to conjecture. He certainly was in no position to get away by himself. I next thought of the bag of gold. Was that gone, too? To my perplexity, I was unable to find the place where I had hidden it. If your father had remained where I left him, I should have had a clew. As it was, I was at a loss.”

“And you never found the gold dust?”

“Never. I ought to say, however, that I had but little time left for the search. I was in haste to get to San Francisco, for a good deal depended upon it. Gibson and myself paid for our claims partly in drafts upon a San Francisco bank. As soon as Simpson reached the city he would no doubt present them for payment. I wanted to stop them. I was unsuccessful. John Simpson was a few hours ahead of me. He had obtained the money, and I could find no trace of him in the city.”

“Didn’t you know where he lived?” asked Tom.

“No; if I had he would have heard from me much94 sooner. It was only a few weeks ago, in fact, just before my visit to Wilton, that I learned his residence. I was down in the world, penniless, or nearly so, and, though the thought humiliated me, I determined to trade in my secret. The rest you know.”

“Thank you for telling me all this, Mr. Darke,” said Tom, “but I am sorry I have heard it.”

“Why?”

“Because I shall hereafter think of Mr. Simpson as a murderer, without being able to do anything to repair the wrong which he inflicted upon our family. Besides, I shall always be in doubt as to what became of my father.”

“Why don’t you go out to California and see if you can’t find out something about him, and the bag of gold dust which belonged to him?”

Tom looked at Mr. Darke in surprise.

“You don’t seem to understand my position,” he answered. “At present I am earning fifty cents a day. Where am I to get money enough to pay for such an expensive journey?”

“I will give you five hundred dollars toward it; that is, if you will agree to undertake the journey.”

“But I have no claim upon you, Mr. Darke.”

“You need not thank me. From John Simpson I obtained five hundred dollars, and it has enabled me to secure a small fortune in Wall Street. The original money I cannot keep. I should regard it as blood-money—the price of my complicity in his guilty secret. I give it to you as part of the large sum of which he95 defrauded your father, for though he failed to secure the bag, he carried off a large sum that of right belongs to you and your mother to-day. Do you accept my proposal?”

Tom looked thoughtful.

“Are you willing that I should leave a part of this money for my mother to live upon while I am away?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then, if my mother does not object, I will go.”

“If she objects, tell her of the bag of gold dust which is hidden somewhere at Rocky Gulch; but it will be better not to harrow up her feelings by speaking of your father’s attempted murder by John Simpson.”

“I will follow your advice. But how shall I explain my having the money to make this journey?”

“Tell her you have found a friend who once knew your father and who furnishes you with the necessary means. Caution her, however, not to mention this to others. It is especially necessary that it should not come to the ears of John Simpson, or he will do what he can to thwart you. And now for the money.”

Darius Darke drew out a plethoric pocket-book and extracted therefrom five one hundred dollar bills.

“These are for you,” he said. “Let me advise you before you leave the city, to deposit them in a savings bank. It is hardly prudent to carry so much money about.”

“Can you recommend me a safe bank?”

“I will go with you, as you are unacquainted with the city.”

96 The two left the Astor House together, and Mr. Darke led the way to a large savings bank in the Bowery, where Tom deposited all his money except a hundred dollars. This he exchanged for small bills, intending to carry them home and leave them with his mother.

As he left the bank with his pass-book in his hand, he felt almost bewildered with the sudden change in his circumstances.

Thrusting his hands into the inner pocket of his overcoat to place the pass-book therein, his hand came in contact with a package of papers. In surprise he opened it, and found it to contain valuable securities.

“What have you get there?” asked Darke.

“They must belong to the gentleman who gave me the overcoat!” answered Tom.