Struggling Upward: Luke Larkin's Luck

FENTON’S GULCH

Deadwood, at the time of Luke’s arrival, looked more like a mining camp than a town.  The first settlers had neither the time nor the money to build elaborate dwellings.  Anything, however rough, that would provide a shelter, was deemed sufficient.  Luxury was not dreamed of, and even ordinary comforts were only partially supplied.  Luke put up at a rude hotel, and the next morning began to make inquiries for Mr. Harding.  He ascertained that the person of whom he was in search had arrived not many weeks previous, accompanied by his sister.  The latter, however, soon concluded that Deadwood was no suitable residence for ladies, and had returned to her former home, or some place near by.  Mr. Harding remained, with a view of trying his luck at the mines.

The next point to be ascertained was to what mines he had directed his steps.  This information was hard to obtain.  Finally, a man who had just returned to Deadwood, hearing Luke making inquiries of the hotel clerk, said: 

“I say, young chap, is the man you are after an old party over fifty, with gray hair and a long nose?”

“I think that is the right description,” said Luke, eagerly.  “Can you tell me anything about him?”

“The party I mean, he may be Harding, or may be somebody else, is lying sick at Fenton’s Gulch, about a day’s journey from here—­say twenty miles.”

“Sick?  What is the matter with him?”

“He took a bad cold, and being an old man, couldn’t stand it as well as if he were twenty years younger.  I left him in an old cabin lying on a blanket, looking about as miserable as you would want to see.  Are you a friend of his?”

“I am not acquainted with him,” answered Luke, “but I am sent out by a friend of his in the East.  I am quite anxious to find him.  Can you give me directions?”

“I can do better.  I can guide you there.  I only came to Deadwood for some supplies, and I go back to-morrow morning.”

“If you will let me accompany you I will be very much obliged.”

“You can come with me and welcome.  I shall be glad of your company.  Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Seems to me you’re rather a young chap to come out here alone.”

“I suppose I am,” returned Luke, smiling, “but there was no one else to come with me.  If I find Mr. Harding, I shall be all right.”

“I can promise you that.  It ain’t likely he has got up from his sick-bed and left the mines.  I reckon you’ll find him flat on his back, as I left him.”

Luke learned that his mining friend was known as Jack Baxter.  He seemed a sociable and agreeable man, though rather rough in his outward appearance and manners.  The next morning they started in company, and were compelled to travel all day.  Toward sunset they reached the place known as Fenton’s Gulch.  It was a wild and dreary-looking place, but had a good reputation for its yield of gold dust.

“That’s where you’ll find the man you’re after,” said Baxter, pointing to a dilapidated cabin, somewhat to the left of the mines.

Luke went up to the cabin, the door of which was open, and looked in.

On a pallet in the corner lay a tall man, pale and emaciated.  He heard the slight noise at the door, and without turning his head, said:  “Come in, friend, whoever you are.”

Upon this, Luke advanced into the cabin.

“Is this Mr. James Harding?” he asked.

The sick man turned his head, and his glance rested with surprise upon the boy of sixteen who addressed him.

“Have I seen you before?” he asked.

“No, sir.  I have only just arrived at the Gulch.  You are Mr. Harding?”

“Yes, that is my name; but how did you know it?”

“I am here in search of you, Mr. Harding.”

“How is that?” asked the sick man, quickly.  “Is my sister sick?”

“Not that I know of.  I come from Mr. Armstrong, in New York.”

“You come from Mr. Armstrong?” repeated the sick man, in evident surprise.  “Have you any message for me from him?”

“Yes, but that can wait.  I am sorry to find you sick.  I hope that it is nothing serious.”

“It would not be serious if I were in a settlement where I could obtain a good doctor and proper medicines.  Everything is serious here.  I have no care or attention, and no medicines.”

“Do you feel able to get away from here?  It would be better for you to be at Deadwood than here.”

“If I had anyone to go with me, I might venture to start for Deadwood.”

“I am at your service, Mr. Harding.”

The sick man looked at Luke with a puzzled expression.

“You are very kind,” he said, after a pause.  “What is your name?”

“Luke Larkin.”

“And you know Mr. Armstrong?”

“Yes.  I am his messenger.”

“But how came he to send a boy so far?  It is not like him.”

Luke laughed.

“No doubt you think him unwise,” he said.  “The fact was, he took me for lack of a better.  Besides, the mission was a confidential one, and he thought he could trust me, young as I am.”

“You say you have a message for me?” queried Harding.

“Yes!”

“What is it?”

“First, can I do something for your comfort?  Can’t I get you some breakfast?”

“The message first.”

“I will give it at once.  Do you remember purchasing some government bonds for Mr. Armstrong a short time before you left his employment?”

“Yes.  What of them?”

“Have you preserved the numbers of the bonds?” Luke inquired, anxiously.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because Mr. Armstrong has lost his list, and they have been stolen.  Till he learns the numbers, he will stand no chance of identifying or recovering them.”

“I am sure I have the numbers.  Feel in the pocket of my coat yonder, and you will find a wallet.  Take it out and bring it to me.”

Luke obeyed directions.

The sick man opened the wallet and began to examine the contents.  Finally he drew out a paper, which he unfolded.

“Here is the list.  I was sure I had them.”

Luke’s eyes lighted up with exultation.

It was clear that he had succeeded in his mission.  He felt that he had justified the confidence which Mr. Armstrong had reposed in him, and that the outlay would prove not to have been wasted.

“May I copy them?” he asked.

“Certainly, since you are the agent of Mr. Armstrong—­or you may have the original paper.”

“I will copy them, so that if that paper is lost, I may still have the numbers.  And now, what can I do for you?”

The resources of Fenton’s Gulch were limited, but Luke succeeded in getting together materials for a breakfast for the sick man.  The latter brightened up when he had eaten a sparing meal.  It cheered him, also, to find that there was someone to whom he could look for friendly services.

To make my story short, on the second day he felt able to start with Luke for Deadwood, which he reached without any serious effect, except a considerable degree of fatigue.

Arrived at Deadwood, where there were postal facilities, Luke lost no time in writing a letter to Mr. Armstrong, enclosing a list of the stolen bonds.  He gave a brief account of the circumstances under which he had found Mr. Harding, and promised to return as soon as he could get the sick man back to his farm in Minnesota.

When this letter was received, Roland Reed was in the merchant’s office.

“Look at that, Mr. Reed,” said Armstrong, triumphantly.  “That boy is as smart as lightning.  Some people might have thought me a fool for trusting so young a boy, but the result has justified me.  Now my course is clear.  With the help of these numbers I shall soon be able to trace the theft and convict the guilty party.”