"Bah! you're a fool."

"Ye t-t-towld me that before, sor."

The robber chief took no notice of the reply, but led his lieutenant aside and held a whispered conversation with him for a few minutes.

Now, among other blessings, Flinders possessed a pair of remarkably acute ears, so that, although he could not make out the purport of the whispered conversation, he heard, somewhat indistinctly, the words "Bevan" and "Betty." Coupling these words with the character of the men around him, he jumped to a conclusion and decided on a course of action in one and the same instant.

Presently Stalker returned, and addressing himself to Tom and Fred, said--

"Now, sirs, I know not your circ.u.mstances nor your plans, but I'll take the liberty of letting you know something of mine. Men give me and my boys bad names. We call ourselves Free-and-easy Boys. We work hard for our living. It is our plan to go round the country collecting taxes-- revenue--or whatever you choose to call it, and punishing those who object to pay. Now, we want a few stout fellows to replace the brave men who have fallen at the post of duty. Will you join us?"

"Certainly not," said Fred, with decision.

"Of course not," said Tom, with contempt.

"Well, then, my fine fellows, you may follow your own inclinations, for there's too many willing boys around to make us impress unwilling ones, but I shall take the liberty of relieving you of your possessions. I will tax _you_ to the full amount."

He turned and gave orders in a low voice to those near him. In a few minutes the horses, blankets, food, arms, etcetera, of the three friends were collected, and themselves unbound.

"Now," said the robber chief, "I mean to spend the night here. You may bid us good-night. The world lies before you--go!"

"B-b-but, sor," said Flinders, with a perplexed and pitiful air. "Ye niver axed _me_ if I'd j-j-jine ye."

"Because I don't want you," said Stalker.

"Ah! thin, it's little ye know th-the j-j-jewel ye're th-throwin' away."

"What can you do?" asked the robber, while a slight smile played on his disfigured face.

"What c-can I _not_ do? ye should ax. W-w-why, I can c-c-c-cook, an'

f-f-fight, an' d-dance, an' t-t-tell stories, an' s-s-sing an'--"

"There, that'll do. I accept you," said Stalker, turning away, while his men burst into a laugh, and felt that Flinders would be a decided acquisition to the party.

"Are we to go without provisions or weapons?" asked Fred Westly, before leaving.

"You may have both," answered Stalker, "by joining us. If you go your own way--you go as you are. Please yourselves."

"You may almost as well kill us as turn us adrift here in the wilderness, without food or the means of procuring it," remonstrated Fred. "Is it not so, Tom?"

Tom did not condescend to reply. He had evidently screwed his spirit up--or down--to the Turkish condition of apathy and contempt.

"You're young, both of you, and strong," answered the robber. "The woods are full of game, berries, roots, and fish. If you know anything of woodcraft you can't starve."

"An' sh-sh-sure Tomlin's Diggin's isn't far--far off--straight f-f-fornint you," said Flinders, going close up to his friends, and whispering, "Kape round by Bevan's Gully. You'll be--"

"Come, none of your whisperin' together!" shouted Stalker. "You're one of _us_ now, Flinders, so say goodbye to your old chums an' fall to the rear."

"Yis, sor," replied the biddable Flinders, grasping each of his comrades by the hand and wringing it as he said, "G-g-good-bye, f-f-foolish b-boys, (Bevan's Gully--_sharp_!) f-farewell f-for i-i-iver!" and, covering his face with his hands, burst into crocodile's tears while he fell to the rear. He separated two of his fingers, however, in pa.s.sing a group of his new comrades, in order to bestow on them a wink which produced a burst of subdued laughter.

Surprised, annoyed, and puzzled, Tom Brixton thrust both hands into his trousers pockets, turned round on his heel, and, without uttering a word, sauntered slowly away.

Fred Westly, in a bewildered frame of mind, followed his example, and the two friends were soon lost to view--swallowed up, as it were, by the Oregon wilderness.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

After walking through the woods a considerable distance in perfect silence--for the suddenness of the disaster seemed to have bereft the two friends of speech--Tom Brixton turned abruptly and said--

"Well, Fred, we're in a nice fix now. What is to be our next move in this interesting little game?"

Fred Westly shook his head with an air of profound perplexity, but said nothing.

"I've a good mind," continued Tom, "to return to Pine Tree Diggings, give myself up, and get hanged right off. It would be a good riddance to the world at large, and would relieve me of a vast deal of trouble."

"There is a touch of selfishness in that speech, Tom--don't you think?-- for it would not relieve _me_ of trouble; to say nothing of your poor mother!"

"You're right, Fred. D'you know, it strikes me that I'm a far more selfish and despicable brute than I used to think myself."

He looked at his companion with a sad sort of smile; nevertheless, there was a certain indefinable ring of sincerity in his tone.

"Tom," said the other, earnestly, "will you wait for me here for a few minutes while I turn aside to pray?"

"Certainly, old boy," answered Tom, seating himself on a mossy bank.

"You know I cannot join you."

"I know you can't, Tom. It would be mockery to pray to One in whom you don't believe; but as _I_ believe in G.o.d, the Bible, and prayer, you'll excuse my detaining you, just for--"

"Say no more, Fred. Go; I shall wait here for you."

A slight shiver ran through Brixton's frame as he sat down, rested his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands.

"G.o.d help me!" he exclaimed, under a sudden impulse, "I've come down _very_ low, G.o.d help me!"

Fred soon returned.

"You prayed for guidance, I suppose?" said Tom, as his friend sat down beside him.

"I did."

"Well, what is the result?"

"There is no result as yet--except, of course, the calmer state of my mind, now that I have committed our case into our Father's hands."

"_Your_ Father's, you mean."

"No, I mean _our_, for He is your father as well as mine, whether you admit it or not. Jesus has bought you and paid for you, Tom, with His own blood. You are not your own."