“Oh, he isn’t as bad as he looks,” said Tom.
“How do you know he isn’t?” asked Oscar, who was greatly amazed. “It isn’t possible that you are acquainted with him?”
“Yes, it is possible,” replied Tom, turning away his head so that his brother might not see the hot blush of shame that momentarily overspread his features. “I know him, and, more than that, he is my partner. I am getting ready to start out with him.”
“Worse and worse,” said Oscar, who was utterly confounded. “Why, Tom, what in the world is going to become of you?”
“No preaching now!” was the angry rejoinder. “I had to put up with it from mother while I was at home, but I am not obliged to submit to it now, and I won’t, either! If you want to talk business, go ahead; but if you want to preach, wait until some other time.”
“If you want to preach, clear out, and leave me as you found me.”
But he recollected himself in time, and did not utter them.
Oscar had expressed a desire to assist him, and, consequently, it would not be wise to make him angry.
“You told me that you had already helped one runaway, and that you would help me,” continued Tom, seating himself on the log by Oscar’s side, and laying his hand familiarly on his shoulder. “Now, let’s talk about that. How much are you going to give me, and how did you happen to strike it so rich? I mean, how did you manage to secure so large a haul and get away with it?” he added, seeing the inquiring look on his brother’s face.
“Let me hear your story, and then you shall hear mine,” answered Oscar. “Tell nothing but the truth, now. How came you in this fix?”
“Well, to make a long story short, I came out here with about fifteen hundred dollars in my pocket, intending to go to the mines, but—unfortunately for me—I struck Denver on the way, and stayed there until I had squandered all my money. Then I had to go to work. A fellow can’t live in this country without doing something to bring in the stamps, I tell you, for he has to pay two prices for all the necessaries of life.
“The first position I managed to work myself into was that of mule-whacker—teamster, you know; but I didn’t understand the care of stock. I wasn’t strong enough to handle the heavy boxes and bales of freight, and after one of the mules had kicked me over a few times, I became sick of the job, threw it up, and went back to Denver. Everything there was full—more applicants than there were places for them to fill.