“I suppose you’re right, lad. I suppose you’re right. I ought to be glad I’m still alive. But when you’re gettin’ old and poor and you ain’t able to work like you’ve been used to and everythin’ seems to be goin’ against you, it ain’t so easy to keep cheerful.”
The old man seemed so downhearted that the boys did their best to console him, but this final disaster to his humble cottage had proved a hard blow. He lacked the resiliency and optimism of youth.
“There was a time when I should have been worth lots of money,” he told the boys. “And if I had my rights I ought to be worth lots of money today. But here I am, with not many years ahead of me, livin’ away out here alone in a little two-by-twice cabin, and now the wind has to come along and blow it into the lake. It don’t seem fair, somehow.”
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Wilson?” asked Chet Morton.
“I’ve been doin’ a bit of trappin’ and huntin’ lately,” the old man replied. “Most of my life I’ve been a miner. I’ve traveled all over the country.”
The boys were at once interested.
“A miner, were you?”
“Yep. I’ve been in Montana and Nevada in the early days.”
At mention of Montana the Hardy boys glanced at one another. Jadbury Wilson did not seem to notice.
“I’ve been in the Klondike in the rush of ninety-eight and I’ve been up in Cobalt and the Porcupine, too. Made a little money here and there, but somehow somethin’ always happened to keep me out of the big winnin’s. If I had my rights I ought to be worth plenty. But it’s too late now,” he sighed. “It’s too late for me to start out on the trails again. I ain’t young enough now.”
The boys were sorry for the old man, but after a while he was quiet and soon his heavy breathing indicated that he had fallen asleep.
“I hope Aunt Gertrude and mother aren’t worrying too much,” said Frank, as he prepared to undertake first watch.
“It can’t be helped,” said Joe, wrapping his blanket around him. “We’ll be able to get back tomorrow.”
“We might take the old man with us,” Chet suggested sleepily. “He is pretty well bruised and battered, and he won’t be able to live here until the cabin is fixed up again.”
“That’s a good idea.” Frank put another stick of wood in the stove. “You have next watch, Chet. May as well get all the sleep you can.”
In a few minutes there was scarcely a sound in the cottage save the crackling of the fire. The timbers of the building creaked and groaned as the night wind hurled itself against the fragile shelter. Snow slashed against the roof. Frank Hardy shivered. He was glad they had obtained even this refuge from the blizzard.
IV
A Tale of the West
Next morning the storm still raged, and although its fury had somewhat abated the snow was still falling so heavily and the wind was still blowing with such intensity that the boys decided to wait in the shelter of the wrecked cabin in the hope that the blizzard would die down. They were comfortable enough where they were and, after they had eaten breakfast, they even began to enjoy their predicament as an adventure which their school chums would envy.
“The worst of it is,” commented Chet, “that today is Sunday and we’re not getting out of one day of school. Unless,” he added, hopefully, “the storm keeps up for another couple of days.”
“I don’t think it’ll be that bad,” Frank laughed.
Jadbury Wilson was feeling somewhat more cheerful, although it developed that his bruises and injuries sustained when his house was blown off the cliff were more serious than had been at first apparent. No bones were broken, but he was black and blue in many spots and unable to rise from his cot without pain. However, he was philosophic enough to regard the mishap as part of his lot in life and it was easily seen that the company of the boys cheered him up immensely.
“I’ve had so much bad luck already,” he told them, “that it don’t seem like much worse could ever happen to me.”
“What kind of bad luck?” asked Joe, scenting a story.
“All kinds of it,” the old man replied. “When I was out in the West in the early days it looked at one time as if I’d be a regular millionaire. And then my bad luck set in and it’s follered me ever since.”
“Did you find any mines?” asked Frank.
“In Nevada, we did. Me and my two partners—brothers they were, by the name of Coulson—prospected about for nigh on a year without findin’ anything. Then, one day, just when our grub was runnin’ low and it looked as if we’d have to give up, while I was cuttin’ some firewood for the mornin’ my axe-handle broke and the blade of it went flyin’ about a dozen yards away. When I went over to pick it up I found it had gone smash against a rock and chipped some of the surface away.”
“And you found gold?” asked Joe eagerly.
“That there little accident uncovered a fine vein of gold. So we started to work it and we staked our property and was gettin’ along fine when some smooth strangers heard about it and come out to see what we had. Well, with half an eye they could see we’d made a real find. We was so joyful about it that we didn’t try to hide it much. And that’s where we made our mistake. You can’t trust nobody where gold is concerned.”
“What happened?”
“Those smooth chaps went back to town and got a slick lawyer to work with them and one night they come out and jumped our claims. Of course we laughed at ’em, for we knew
