bills, and in ten minutes more Tom
was on his way in search of a grub-stake.

"Oh, certainly you'll get it," said Monroe, who rode beside him. "That
is the way the bosses always treat a tender-foot when they haven't
anything in particular for him to do. Some of our best known men have
got their start that way."

"I should think that some of the men you trust that way would run off
when they find something good," said Tom.

"Why, bless you, they can't take their find with them. They've got to
stay and work it. I did hear of a fellow who found a lot of iron
pyrites, and filled his pockets with them. He ran away, making the best
course he could for Denver, and when he was found, his pockets might
just as well have been filled with clay."

"Dead?" said Tom.

"Yes; and he was two hundred miles from where he belonged."

"And his find didn't amount to anything?"

"No. It is a brassy substance and looks very much like the precious
metal, but you need a mine to work it."

"What do you suppose killed him?"

"Don't know. Some people suppose that his mule got away from him, and
ran away with his outfit. At any rate, there was nothing near him, and
the fellow got desperate and died from exhaustion. Oh, it's one of the
things that will happen out here."

"That's a queer way to do," said Tom musingly. "By the way, I haven't
got any revolver."

"Oh, the old man will give you a pop. You will get everything you need
to last you two or three months. While that lasts, you are expected to
do some hunting; when it begins to give out, you want to come home."

"But how will I know the way?"

"The mule will bring you. He will stay there about two months,--that is,
if he doesn't get frightened,--and when he gets tired of staying, he
will come home, and you had better come, too."

It was by such talks as this that Tom learned a great deal about the
business upon which he was soon to embark. It never occurred to him that
he was to engage in any other business. Cowboys--or, as they were called
in those days, "vaqueros"--were not as plenty as they became a few years
later, and if a ranchman could be found who thought him able to make his
living by riding for a stake, well and good. He certainly would not run
away with his pockets filled with pyrites. He expected to make a good
many blunders, but Tom told himself he was used to that. What he thought
of more than anything else was that nugget worth eight thousand dollars.

They camp