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In: Adventure·Novels·American Literature
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Ben Stanton’s tale begins amid the rugged foothills of a California gold‑rush mining camp, where three companions, Ben, his rough‑spoken friend Jake Bradley, and the ailing Richard Dewey, huddle in a makeshift hut after a day of hard labor on a promising claim. Their conversation drifts from the scarcity of news in the remote mountains to the modest fortune they have already extracted, and soon turns to the practical matters of paying Dewey a commission, caring for the injured miner, and locating their absent cook, Ki Sing. The opening scene establishes a plot centered on youthful ambition, loyalty, and the everyday challenges of frontier life, while hinting at a larger adventure involving a wealthy New York heiress, a secret marriage, and the lure of richer veins of gold.
The narrative is rendered in a colloquial, mid‑nineteenth‑century voice that captures the dialect of rough‑shod prospectors and the earnest optimism of a young man on the move. Its straightforward, dialogue‑driven style reflects the adventure and juvenile fiction of the era, with a touch of humor and occasional moral reflection. Readers who enjoy historical sketches of the California gold rush, lively character exchanges, and a modest coming‑of‑age story set against a backdrop of mining, friendship, and early American frontier society will find this novel engaging.
The opening · free to read
Ben Stanton, whom he addressed, was a boy of sixteen, with a pleasant face and a manly bearing.
"No, Jake," he answered with a smile, "I didn't meet a newsboy."
"There ain't many in this neighborhood, I reckon," said Bradley. "I tell you, Ben, I'd give an ounce of dust for a New York or Boston paper. Who knows what may have happened since we've been confined here in this lonely mountain-hut? Uncle Sam may have gone to war, for aught we know. P'r'haps the British may be bombarding New York this moment."
"I guess not," said Ben, smiling.
"I don't think it likely myself," said Bradley, filling his pipe. "Still, there may be some astonishin' news if we could only get hold of it."
"I don't think we can complain, Jake," said Ben, turning to a pleasanter subject. "We've made considerable money out of Mr. Dewey's claim."
"That's so. The three weeks we've spent here haven't been thrown away, by a long chalk. We shall be pretty well paid for accommodatin' Dick Dewey by stayin' and takin' care of him."
"How much gold-dust do you think we're got, Mr. Bradley?"
"What!" exclaimed Bradley, taking the pipe from his mouth; "hadn't you better call me the Honorable Mr. Bradley, and done with it? Don't you feel acquainted with me yet, that you put the handle on to my name?"
"Excuse me, Jake," said Ben; "that's what I meant to say, but I was thinking of Mr. Dewey and that's how I happened to call you Mister."
"That's a different matter. Dick's got a kind of dignity, so that it seems natural to call him Mister; but as for me, I'm Jake Bradley, not a bad sort of fellow, but I don't wear store-clo'es, and I'd rather be called Jake by them as know me well."
"All right, Jake; but you haven't answered my question."
"What about?"
"The gold-dust."
"Oh yes. Well, I should say that the dust we've got out must be worth nigh on to five hundred dollars."
"So much as that?" asked Ben, his eyes sparkling.
"Yes, all of that. That claim of Dewey's is a splendid one, and no mistake. I think we ought to pay him a commission for allowing us to work it."
"I think so too, Jake."
They were sitting outside the rude hut which had been roughly put together on the summit of the mountain. The door was open, and what they said could be heard by the occupant, who was stretched on a hard pallet in one corner of the cabin.
"Come in, you two," he called out.
"Sartin, Dick," said Bradley; and he entered the cabin, followed by Ben.
"What was that you were saying just now?" asked Richard Dewey.
"Tell him, Ben," said Bradley.
"Jake was saying that we ought to pay you a commission on the gold-dust we took from your claim, Mr. Dewey," said our hero, for that is Ben's position in our story.
"Why should you?" asked Dewey.
"Because it's yours. You found it, and you ought to get some good of it."
"So I have, Jake. In the first place, I got a thousand dollars out of it before I fell sick--that is, sprained my ankle."
"But you ain't gettin' anything out of it now."
"I think I am," said Dewey, smiling and looking gratefully at his two friends. "I am getting the care and attention of two faithful friends, who will see that I do not suffer while I am laid up in this lonely hut."
"We don't want to be paid for that, Dick."
"I know that, Bradley; but I don't call it paying you to let you work the claim which I don't intend to work myself."
"But you would work it if you were well."
"No, I wouldn't," answered Dewey, with energy. "I would leave this place instantly and take the shortest path to San Francisco."
"To see the gal that sent us out after you?"
"Yes. But, Jake, suppose you call her the young lady."
"Of course. You mustn't mind me, Dick. I don't know much about manners. I was raised kind of rough, and never had no chance to learn politeness. Ben, here, knows ten times as much as I do about how to behave among fashionable folks."
"I don't know about that, Jake," said Ben. "I was brought up in the country, and I know precious little about fashionable folks."
"Oh, well, you know how to talk. Besides, didn't you bring out Miss Douglas from the States?"
"She brought me," said Ben.
"It seems to me we are wandering from the subject," said Dewey. "It was a piece of good luck for me when you two happened upon this cabin where I lay helpless, with no one to look after me but Ki Sing."
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