CHAPTER ONE.
"`Honesty is the best policy,' Tom, you may depend on it," said a youth
to his companion, one afternoon, as they walked along the margin of one
of those brawling rivulets which, born amid the snows of the Rocky
Mountain peaks, run a wild and plunging course of many miles before
finding comparative rest in the celebrated goldfields of Oregon.
"I don't agree with you, Fred," said Tom, sternly; "and I don't believe
in the proverb you have quoted. The world's maxims are not all gospel."
"You are right, Tom; many of them are false; nevertheless, some are
founded on gospel truth."
"It matters not," returned Tom, angrily. "I have made up my mind to get
back from that big thief Gashford what he has stolen from me, for it is
certain that he cheated at play, though I could not prove it at the
time. It is impossible to get it back by fair means, and I hold it
quite allowable to steal from a thief, especially when that which you
take is your own."
Fred Westly shook his head, but did not reply. Many a time had he
reasoned with his friend, Tom Brixton, about the sin of gambling, and
urged him to be content with the result of each day's digging for gold,
but his words had no effect. Young Brixton had resolved to make a
fortune rapidly. He laboured each day with pick and shovel with the
energy of a hero and the dogged perseverance of a navvy, and each night
he went to Lantry's store to increase his gains by gambling. As a
matter of course his "luck," as he called it, varied. Sometimes he
returned to the tent which he shared with his friend Westly, depressed,
out of humour, and empty-handed. At other times he made his appearance
flushed with success--occasionally, also, with drink,--and flung down a
heavy bag of golden nuggets as the result of his evening's play.
Ultimately, when under the influence of drink, he staked all that he had
in the world, except his clothes and tools, to a man named Gashford, who
was noted for his size, strength of body, and utter disregard of God and
man. As Brixton said, Gashford had cheated him at play, and this had
rendered the ruined man unusually savage.
The sun was down when the two friends entered their tent and began to
pull off their muddy boots, while a little man in a blue flannel shirt
and a brown wide-awake busied himself in the preparation of supper.
"What have you got for us to-night, Paddy?" asked Westly.
