Gold miners -- Fiction; Nevada -- Fiction; Western stories
"This letter," said he, "was sent from way down in the desert--from
Starlight, another new camp. It looks to me as if the boy has struck
something very important. I'll read you what he says--or you can read
it for yourself."
"No, no--read it. I'd rather listen."
He read it haltingly, as one who puzzles over unfamiliar writing. Its
effect sank in the deeper for the method. Beth was open-eyed with
wonder, admiration, and delight over all that Glen had done and was
about to accomplish. She rose to the bait with sisterly eagerness.
"Why, he _must_ have the chance--he's _got_ to have the chance!" she
cried excitedly. "What do you think of it yourself?"
Bostwick fanned the blaze with conservatism.
"It's quite a sum of money and Glen might overestimate the value of the
mine. I've inquired around and learn that the property is considered
tremendously promising. If we--if he actually secures that claim it
will doubtless mean a for---- I don't like to lose my sense of
judgment, but I do want to help the boy along. Frankly, however, I
don't see how I can let him have so much. I couldn't possibly send him
but thirty thousand dollars at the most."
Beth's eyes were blazing with excitement. She had never dreamed that
Searle could be so generous--so splendid. An impulse of gratitude and
admiration surged throughout her being.
"You'd _do_ it?" she said. "You'll do as much as that for Glen?"
"Why, how can I do less?" he answered. "That claim will doubtless be
worth half a million, maybe more--if all I hear is reliable--and I get
it from disinterested parties. The boy has done a good big thing.
I've got to help him out. It seems too bad to offer him only half of
what he needs, but I'm not a very wealthy man. I can't be utterly
Quixotic. We've all got to help him all we can."
"Oh, thank you, Searle--thank you for saying 'we,'" she said in a voice
that slightly trembled. "I'm glad of the chance--glad to show dear
Glen that a sister can help a little, too."
He stared at her with an excellent imitation of surprise in his gaze.
"You'll--help?" he said in astonishment, masterfully simulated. "Not
with the other thirty thousand?"
"Why not?" she cried. "Why not, when Glen has the chance of his life?
You don't really think I'd hesitate?"
"But," said he, leading her onward, "he needs the money now--at once.
You'd have to get it here by wire, and all that sort of trouble."
"Then we'd better get things started," she said. "You'll help me,
Searle, I'm sure."
"If you wish it," said Bostwick, "certainly."
"Dear Glen!" she said. "Dear boy! I'll write him a letter at once."
Bostwick started, alertly, as she ran in her girlish pleasure to a
stand where she had placed her materials for writing.
"Good," he commented drily, "I'll mail it with one of my own."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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