For more than a month did the prospecting party wander among the Californian mountains in quest of gold, but found none—at least not in paying quantities.

 

At first the trip was to each of them full of romance, interest and hope. Even Buckley began to cheer up after a few days had passed. The craving for drink began to wear off, and grief for his lost brother—whom he had truly loved—began to abate. The wild scenery through which they passed was in itself sufficient to rouse to a high pitch the enthusiasm of such youths as Philosopher Jack and Watty Wilkins, while their comrade, though not so impressionable in regard to the sublime and beautiful, was roused to sympathy by their irresistible ardour. The necessity of hunting, too, in order to obtain food, added excitement of a more stirring kind, and an occasional encounter with a grizzly bear introduced a spice of danger to which none of them objected. Their various washings of the soil and examination of river beds afforded a sufficient quantity of gold to foster hope, though not to pay expenses. Thus they progressed through many a scene of loveliness, where the hand of God had sown broadcast all the forms and hues of grace and beauty which render this world attractive; they also passed through many a savage defile and mountain gorge—dark, gloomy, almost repulsive—which served to enhance their enjoyment of the beautiful by contrast.

 

But as the time passed by they became accustomed to the life, and therefore less appreciative. They failed, also, to find gold in larger quantities, and as the finding of gold was their highest aim, they were proportionally disappointed and downcast. Watty, indeed, kept up his spirits pretty well. He experienced the benefit of the change that had taken place in his soul that time when he was alone with God in the little boat upon the sea. He prayed in secret for light, and tried to believe that “all things work together for good to them that love God;” but his faith was weak, and the old heart of unbelief was still very strong.

 

As for Philosopher Jack, his spirit was still engaged in rebellious warfare. He growled a good deal at his “luck,” and was heartily seconded by Buckley. In addition to this, Jack’s spirit was much troubled by his promise to Daniel Buckley on his deathbed. He shrank, with a strength of feeling that surprised himself, from speaking to Jacob about his infirmity, yet he felt the duty lying strong upon him, for he knew well that, if nothing was said, the man would certainly go back to his old habits on returning to the neighbourhood of the store where drink could be obtained.

 

“Shall I break the ice at once?” thought Jack. “Perhaps it would be well to wait till we know each other better.”

 

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