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Updated: June 17, 2025
"Don't you think you would have been happier?" "No preaching, kid! I had enough of that when I used to go to church in my old home in Missouri. Here, Caesar!" "Yes, massa." "You know Oreville?" "Yes, massa." "Go over there and take this letter with you. Ask for Jefferson Pettigrew, and mind you don't tell him where we live.
Stephen Ray looked at the register, and started violently as he read the entry: ERNEST RAY, Oreville, California. "What's the matter, pa?" asked Clarence, noticing his father's agitation. "Oh, nothing, nothing," answered his father, with an effort. "Haven't we a cousin named Ernest Ray?" "We had, but he is dead." "It is strange that there should be another person of the name." "Not at all.
Every facility was afforded him to examine into the management of things and he found all satisfactory. This part of his journey, therefore, may be passed over. But his return trip was destined to be more exciting. Riding at an easy jog Rodney had got within fifteen miles of Oreville, when there was an unexpected interruption.
"When I landed in Frisco," he said, "two years ago, I had just forty dollars left after paying the expenses of my trip. I couldn't find anything to do in the city, so I set out for the mines." "Where did you go?" asked Luke, becoming interested. "To Oreville. At least, that's what they call it now. Then it didn't have a name." "I hope you prospered," said Ernest.
Yet his former experience enabled him the better to accommodate himself to the way of living at Oreville. For a month the two friends worked steadily at their claim, which Ashton had finally given them. They made something, but not much. In fact, it was with difficulty that they made expenses.
It is hardly necessary to explain how Burns had found his way out to Oreville. It was his business to tramp about the country, and it had struck him that in the land of gold he would have a chance to line his pockets with treasure which did not belong to him. So fortune had directed his steps to Oreville.
Louis daily paper, I learn that you are at present living in Oreville, California. This information was given me by one Thomas Burns, who is employed at the Planters Hotel. The name is, I hope, familiar to you. It is very desirable that I should have an interview with you. If you are the son of Dudley Ray, formerly residing at or near Elmira, what I have to say will be greatly to your advantage.
"You come from California?" "Yes." "I judge from your appearance that you have not suffered from poverty." "I have been fortunate at Oreville. At Oak Forks I lived very humbly with Peter Brant, an old servant of my father." "Yes, I remember Peter. Is he alive still?" "No, he died a little less than a year since. Till his death I thought him my uncle, and knew no other relatives.
"The name is different, and, besides, the writer says that his father died when he was a baby. Of course that settles the question. He is a different boy." He opened the second letter, hoping that it might be more satisfactory. It was the letter of Tom Burns, setting forth his meeting Ernest at Oak Forks, and afterwards running across him at Oreville in California.
They offered Rodney a cigarette, but he declined it. "I don't smoke," he said. "Are you a Sunday school kid?" asked one in a sneering tone. "Well, perhaps so." "How long have you lived at Oreville?" "About four months." "Who is the head of the settlement there?" "Jefferson Pettigrew." "He is the moneyed man, is he?" "Yes." "Is he a friend of yours?" "He is my best friend," answered Rodney warmly.
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