Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Young Explorer; Or, Claiming His Fortune by Jr. Horatio Alger (read aloud TXT) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «The Young Explorer; Or, Claiming His Fortune by Jr. Horatio Alger (read aloud TXT) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
"I can hardly wait to have them cooked," sard Ben. "I'm as hungry as a hunter. I understand what that means now."
"I sha'n't have any trouble in keeping up with you, Ben," said his companion. "We'll have a supper fit for a king."
They gathered some dry sticks, and soon a fire was blazing, which, in the cool night air, sent out a welcome heat.
After supper they lay down on their backs and looked up into the darkening sky. Ben felt that it was a strange situation. They were in the heart of the Sierras, miles, perhaps many miles, away from any human being, thousands of miles away from the quiet village where Ben had first seen the light. Yet he did not feel disturbed or alarmed. His wanderings had inspired self-reliance, and he did not allow himself to be troubled with anxious cares about the future. If by a wish he could have been conveyed back to his uncle's house in the far East, he would have declined to avail himself of the privilege. He had started out to make a living for himself, and he was satisfied that if he persevered he would succeed in the end.
"What are you thinking about, Ben?" asked Bradley, after a long pause.
"I was thinking how strange it seems to be out here among the mountains," answered Ben, still gazing on the scenery around him.
"I don't see anything strange about it," said his less imaginative comrade. "Seein' we came here on our horses, it would be strange to be anywhere else."
"I mean it is strange to think we are so far away from everybody."
"I don't foller you, Ben. I suppose it's sorter lonelylike, but that ain't new to me."
"I never realized how big the world was when I lived at home," said Ben, in a slow, thoughtful way.
"Yes, it's a pretty largish place, that's a fact."
"What were you thinking of, Jake?" asked Ben, in his turn.
"I was thinkin' of two things: whereabouts Dewey has managed to hide himself, and then it occurred to me how consolin' it would be to me if I could light on a pound of smokin'-tobacco. I've got a pipe, but it ain't no good without tobacco."
"That don't trouble me much, Jake," said Ben, with a smile.
"It's the next thing to a good supper, Ben," said Bradley; "but I might as well wish for the moon."
"You needn't wish in vain for that," said Ben, pointing out the orb of evening, with its pale-yellow light peeping over the tall tree-tops, and irradiating the scene with its pensive shimmer.
"I can see it, but that don't help me any," said Bradley. "If I saw a world made of tobacco up in yonder sky, it would only make me feel worse because I couldn't get any."
"What was it you was a-wishin' for, friend?" asked an unfamiliar voice.
Bradley sprang to his feet, and Ben followed suit.
They saw two strange figures, clad in Spanish style, with large, napping sombreros on their heads, who unheard, had descended the mountains, and were now close upon them.
"Who are you?" asked Bradley doubtfully.
"Friends," was the reassuring reply. "We'll join your little party if you have no objection. I'd invite you to take a drink if there was any saloon handy. As there isn't, jest help yourself to this," and he drew out a pouch of smoking-tobacco.
"Just what I was wantin'," said Bradley, delighted. "You're welcome, whoever you are."
"Ben, can't you get together some sticks and light the fire? It's coolish."
CHAPTER XXIV. — BEATEN AT HIS OWN GAME.
Bradley was of a social disposition, and even without the gift of tobacco would have been glad of an addition to their small party.
"I'm glad to see you," he said, repeating his welcome. "I wonder I didn't hear you comin'. Have you been long in Californy?"
"Well onto a year," said the one who seemed the elder of the two. "How is it with you, stranger?"
"I have been here about as long," answered Bradley. "Ben has only just come out."
"What luck have you had?" pursued the questioner.
"Good and bad. I made quite a pile, and went to 'Frisco and gambled it away like a fool. Now I've come back for another trial."
'"What might your name be?"
"Bradley-Jake Bradley. It isn't much of a name, but it'll do for me. The boy is Ben Stanton—come from the East."
"My name is Bill Mosely," said the other. "My friend's Tom Hadley. We're both from Missouri, and, though I say it, we're about as wide-awake as they make 'em. We don't stand no back talk, Tom and me. When a man insults me, I drop him," and the speaker rolled his eyes in what was meant to stimulate ferocity.
Bradley eyed him shrewdly, and was not quite so much impressed as Mosely intended him to be. He had observed that the greatest boasters did not always possess the largest share of courage.
"Isn't that so, Tom?" asked Bill Mosely, appealing to his friend.
"I should say so," answered Tom, nodding emphatically.
"You've seen me in a scrimmage more than once?"
"I should say I have."
"Did you ever see me shoot a man that riled me?"
"Dozens of times," returned Hadley, who appeared to play second fiddle to his terrible companion.
"That's the kind of man I am," said Bill Mosely, in a tone of complacency.
Still, Bradley did not seem particularly nervous or frightened. He was fast making up his mind that Mosely was a cheap bully, whose words were more terrible than his deeds. Ben had less experience of men, and he regarded the speaker as a reckless desperado, ready to use his knife or pistol on the least provocation. He began to think he would have preferred solitude to such society. He was rather surprised to hear Bradley say quietly:
"Mosely, you're a man after my own heart. That's the kind of man I be. If a man don't treat me right, I shoot him in his tracks. One day I was drinkin' in a saloon among the foothills, when I saw a man winkin' at me. I waited to see if he would do it again. When he did, I hauled out my revolver and shot him dead."
"You did?" exclaimed Mosely uneasily.
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