His face lighted up as he grasped Tom’s hand cordially.
“Your father and mother are well,” he said, “and so is Mr. Silverthorn.”
“I left him at Sacramento. He wanted me to pay his fare out here.”
“Yes; I thought he would be company for your father. He may adopt Silverthorn in your place.”
“He’s welcome to him, if he likes. It’s good for sore eyes to see you, Grant. How do you feel?”
“Sore enough. I thought I should be shaken to pieces over the rough road.”
“You are hungry, I reckon. Come into the hotel, and we’ll have dinner.”
Nothing loath, Grant followed Tom into the dining-room, where dinner was laid in readiness for the stage passengers. It was not such a meal as an epicure would enjoy, but Grant ate with great relish.
“So you have been doing well, Tom?” said Grant, between two mouthfuls.
“Yes; you didn’t tell father what I wrote you?”
“He said that he didn’t believe you were doing much; he thought you had better come back to Sacramento and help him in the shop.”
“I think I’ll stay here a little longer,” he replied. “How is dad doing?”
“Finely. He is making ten dollars a day.”
“Good for him! He wouldn’t do for mining. Besides, there’s mother. He’s better off where he is.”
“Upstairs. I have a pair of blankets up there, and a pillow, and I don’t need anybody to make my bed.”
“I suppose I ought to have a pair of blankets.”
“I’ll buy you a pair. There’s a chap going to leave to-day, and we can buy his. Now come out and see the mines.”
Leaving the hotel, Tom led the way to the mining claims. There was a deep gulch half a mile distant, at the base of which ran a creek, and it was along this that the claims were staked out. They were about twenty feet wide, in some cases more. Tom led the way to his, and showed Grant the way he worked. He used a rocker, or cradle. A sieve was fitted in at the top, and into this the miner shoveled the dirt. Tom rocked the cradle with one hand, after it was filled, and poured water on the dirt from a dipper. Gradually the dirt was washed out, and if there was any gold it would remain in small gleaming particles mixed with black sand.
“Isn’t that rather a rough way of working, Tom?” asked Grant, after his tour of inspection.
“Yes; I have been thinking of getting what the miners call a ‘long tom’—no pun intended.”