At length the little party reached Sacramento. This was already a place of some importance, as it was in the neighborhood of the mining region, and it was here that mining parties obtained their outfits and came at intervals to bring their gold dust and secure supplies. Situated, as it was, on the Sacramento River, with communication with San Francisco by water, it was, besides, the starting-point of numberless lines of stages bound for the different mines. For a town of its size the activity seemed almost incredible. The party went to a hotel, where, for very indifferent accommodations, they were charged five dollars a day. To the blacksmith, accustomed to village prices, this seemed exorbitant.

“We needn’t engage board till night,“night,“ suggested Tom. “We’ll take our meals at a restaurant till then.”

They were all hungry, and this suggestion seemed a good one. Looking about, Tom found a small, one-story building, on the front of which was this sign:

“What do you ask for breakfast?” inquired Tom, entering.

“A dollar a head!”

“A dollar!” repeated Mrs. Cooper, in dismay.

“Tom,” said Mr. Cooper, “I haven’t had a civilized meal or sat down at a table for months. No matter what it costs, I’m going to have breakfast now.”

“All right, father! I guess I can do my share of eating.”

Grant listened with dismay to the announcement of prices. Of all the money he had brought with him he had but ten dollars left. How long would it last?

“Grant, are you going to join us?” asked Tom.

“I don’t know as I can afford it,” answered Grant anxiously.

“We can’t any of us afford it,” returned Mr. Cooper. “Sit down, boy, and we’ll borrow trouble afterward.”

“Now,” said Mr. Cooper, as he rose from the table, “I’ll take a turn round the town and see what information I can gain. I’ll turn in the wagon into the yard alongside. Mrs. Cooper, will you keep your eye on it while the rest of us go on a tour of inspection? I don’t think the oxen will be likely to run away,” he added jocosely.

“All right, father.”

Mr. Cooper, Tom, and Grant set out in different directions.

Grant started on his walk feeling sober, if not depressed. Here he was, two thousand miles from his old home, with only nine dollars in his pocket, and the prices for living extortionate. How was he to get to the mines? Before he could get ready to leave Sacramento his money would be exhausted. Since he left home, four months before, Grant hadn’t felt so perplexed and disturbed.

He had walked only five minutes, when he found himself in front of the Sacramento Hotel, the largest in the place.

Half a dozen stages were in the street outside, each drawn by four horses, and each bearing the name of some mining camp to which it proposed to carry passengers. The drivers were calling lustily for recruits. This was what Grant heard—“All aboard for Hangtown! Only four seats left! Who’s going to Gold Gulch? Now’s your chance! Get you through in six hours. Start in fifteen minutes for Frost’s Bar! Richest diggings, within fifty miles!”

“I wonder what they charge,” thought Grant. “I’ll ask.” He went up to the stage bound for Weaver Creek, and inquired the fare.

“Carry you through for ten dollars,” was the reply. “Jump aboard. We’ll start in half an hour.”

“No,” answered Grant slowly. “I shan’t be ready by that time. Besides, I have only nine dollars.”

“I’ll take you to Frost’s Bar for that,” said the driver of the Frost’s Bar stage.

“I suppose you will,” interposed the Weaver Creek driver with a sneer. “Your regular charge is only seven dollars. You want to cheat the boy out of two dollars.”

This led to an altercation between the rival drivers, in which some blows were exchanged, but neither was hurt. Before they had finished Grant had passed on. He knew that, with his limited capital, he could not afford to go to either place and arrive at the mines without a penny.