I
THE GRUB-STAKER
I
"There's gold in the Sierra Blanca country--everybody admits it,"Sherman F. Bidwell was saying as the Widow Delaney, who kept the PalaceHome Cooking Restaurant in the town of Delaney (named after her husband,old Dan Delaney), came into the dining-room. Mrs. Delaney paused with aplate of steaming potatoes, and her face was a mask of scorn as sheaddressed the group, but her words were aimed especially at Bidwell, whohad just come in from the lower country to resume his prospecting up thegulch.
"It's aisy sayin' gould is in thim hills, but when ye find it rainbowswill be fishin'-rods." As she passed the potatoes over Bidwell's headshe went on: "Didn't Dan Delaney break his blessed neck a-climbin' thehigh places up the creek--to no purpis includin' that same accident? Youmin may talk and talk, but talk don't pay for petaties and bacon, mindthat. For eight years I've been here and I'm worse off to-day than iverbefore--an' the town, phwat is it? Two saloons and a boardin'-house--andnot a ton of ore dug--much less shipped out. Y'r large words dig nodirt, I'm thinkin', Sherm Bidwell."
Bidwell was a mild-spoken man who walked a little sidewise, with eyesalways on the ground as though ceaselessly searching for pieces offloat. He replied to his landlady with some spirit: "I've chashayedaround these mountains ever since I got back from Californey infifty-four and I know good rocks. I can't just lay my pick on the vein,but I'm due to find it soon, for I'm a-gettin' old. Why, consider thefloat, it's everywhere--and you know there's colors in every sand-bar?There's got to be a ledge somewhere close by."
The widow snorted. "Hah! Yiss, flo-at! Me windysills is burthened withdirty float--but where's the gould?"
"I'll find it, Mrs. Delaney--but you must be patient," he mildlyreplied.
"Pashint! Me, pashint! Sure Job was a complainin' mill-wheel beside me,Sherm Bidwell. Me boarders have shrunk to five and you're one o' thefive--and here you are after another grub-stake to go picnicking intothe mountains wid. I know your smooth tongue--sure I do--but ye're upagainst me determination this toime, me prince. Ye don't get a pound o'meat nor a measure o' flour from Maggie Delaney--"
Bidwell sat with an air of resigned Christian fortitude while the widowdelivered herself. To tell the truth, he had listened to these precisewords before--and resented them only because spoken publicly.
The other boarders finished their supper in silence and went out, butBidwell lingered to wheedle the mistress while she ate her own fill atthe splotched and littered table. The kerosene-lamp stood close to herplate and brought out the glow of her cheek and deepened the blue of hereyes into violet. She was still on the right side of forty and wellcared for.
Bidwell shot a shy glance at her. "I like to stir you up, Maggiedarlin'; it makes you purty as a girl."
She caught up a loaf of bread and heaved it at him. He caught it deftlyand inquired, guilelessly: "Is this the first of my grub-stake, lassie?"
"It is _not!_ 'Tis the last crumb ye'll have of me. Out wid ye!Grub-stake indade! You go out this night, me bucko!"
Bidwell rose in pretended fright and shuffled to the door. "I don't needmuch--a couple o' sacks o' flour--"
She lifted an arm. "You tramp!"
He slammed the door just in time to prevent a cup from flying straightinto his smiling eyes. After a moment of silent laughter, and with awink at the men in the "office," he reopened the door and said:
"Ye're a warm-hearted, handsome girl, Maggie. Two strips o' bacon--"
A muffled cry and a crash caused him to again slam the door andwithdraw.
Coming back to the middle of the room, he took out his pipe and began tofill it. One of the younger men said:
"You'll get that grub-stake over the eye; the widdy is dangerousto-night."
Sherm seemed not much concerned. Having fired his pipe, he took a pieceof rock from his pocket. "What do you think o' this?" he inquired,casually.
The other examined it eagerly, and broke out: "Jee--cripes! Why, say!that's jest _rotten_ with gold. Where'd you find it?"
"Out in the hills," was the placid reply; "a new vein--high up."
The third man took the rock and said: "That vein has got to be lowdown--that can't come from high up. We're on the wrong trail. Think o'Cripple Creek--mine's right under the grass on the hills. Yer can't foolme."
"But we know the veins are high--we've seen 'em," argued the other men.
"Yes--but they're different veins. This rock comes from lower down."
"What do you say to that, Sherm?"
"One guess is as good as another," he replied, and moved away with hispiece of ore.
"The old man's mighty fly this evenin'. I wonder if he really hastrailed that float to a standstill. I'd sooner think he's stringin' us."
Bidwell went out on the edge of the ravine, and for a long time sat on arock, listening to the roar of the swift stream and looking up at thepeaks which were still covered with heavy yellow snow, stained with theimpalpable dust which the winter winds had rasped from the exposedledges of rock. It was chill in the canyon, and the old man shivered withcold as well as with a sense of discouragement. For twenty years he hadregularly gone down into the valleys in winter to earn money with whichto prospect in summer--all to no purpose. For years Margaret Delaney hadbeen his very present help in time of trouble, and now she had brokenwith him, and under his mask of smiling incredulity he carried aprofoundly disturbed conscience. His benefactress was in deadlyearnest--she meant every word she said--that he felt, and unless sherelented he was lost, for he had returned from the valley this timewithout a dollar to call his own. He had a big, strong mule and someblankets and a saddle--nothing further.
The wind grew stronger and keener, roaring down the canyon with thebreath of the upper snows, and the man's blood cried out for a fire(June stands close to winter in the high ranges of the Crestones), andat last he rose stiffly and returned to the little sitting-room, wherehe found the widow in the midst of an argument with her boarders toprove that they were all fools together for hangin' to the side of amountain that had no more gould in it than a flatiron or a loomp o'coal--sure thing!
"What you goin' to do about our assays?" asked young Johnson.
"Assays, is it? Annybody can have assays--that will pay the price. Ye'reall lazy dogs in the manger, that's phwat ye air. Ye assay and wantsomebody else to pay ye fer the privilege of workin'. Why don't ye workyer-silves--ye loots? Sit around here expectin' some wan ilse to shovelgould into yer hat. Ye'll pay me yer board--moind that," she ended,making a personal application of her theories; "ivery wan o' ye."
If any lingering resolution remained in Bidwell's heart it melted awayas he listened to Mrs. Delaney's throaty voice and plain, blunt words.Opening the door timidly, he walked in and without looking at the angrywoman seized upon his bundles, which lay behind the door.
The widow's voice rang out: "Where ye gawun wid thim bags?"
Bidwell straightened. "They're my bundles, I reckon. Can't a man do ashe likes with his own?"
"Not whin he's owin' fer board. Put thim boondles down!"
The culprit sighed and sat down on the bundles. Even young Johnson losthis desire to laugh, for Bidwell looked pathetically old and discouragedat the moment, as he mildly asked:
"You wouldn't send a man out in the night without his blankets, wouldyou?"
"I'd send a sneak to purgatory--if I c'u'd. Ye thought ye'd ooze out,did ye? Nice speciment you are!"
Bidwell was roused. "If I had planned to sneak I wouldn't 'a' come intothe room with you a-standin' in the middle of the floor," he replied,with some firmness. "You ordered me out, didn't you? Well, I'm goin'. Ican't pay you--you knew that when you told me to go--and I owe you agood deal--I admit that--but I'm going to pay it. But I must have alittle time."
The other men, with a grateful sense of delicacy, got up and went out,leaving Bidwell free space to justify himself in the eyes of the angrywoman.
As the door slammed behind the last man the widow walked over and gaveBidwell a cuff. "Get _
off_ thim boondles. Gaw set on a chair like a man,an' not squat there like a baboon." She pitched his bundles through anopen door into a small bedroom. "Ye know where yer bed is, I hope! I do'know phwat Dan Delaney w'u'd say to me, housin' and feedin' the likes o'you, but I'll do it wan more summer--and then ye gaw flyin'. Ye hearthat now!"
And she threw the door back on its hinges so sharply that a knob wasbroken.
Bidwell went in, closed the door gently, and took to his bed, dazed withthis sudden change in the climate. "She's come round before--andsurprised me," he thought, "but never so durn sudden as this. I hope sheain't sick or anything."
Next morning at breakfast Maggie was all smiles. The storm of theevening before had given place to brilliant sunshine. She ignored allwinks and nudgings among her boarders, and did not scruple to point outto Bidwell the choicest biscuit on the plate, and to hand him thefattest slice of bacon, all of which he accepted without elation.
"Old Sherm must be one o' these hypnotical chaps," said Johnson as theywere lighting their pipes in the sitting-room. "He's converted the widowinto another helping. He's goin' to get his flour and bacon all right!"
"You bet he is, and anything else he wants. Beats me what she finds inthat old side-winder, anyhow."
"Oh, Sherm isn't so worse if he had a decent outfit."
Bidwell was deeply touched by Maggie's clemency, and would have put hisfeelings into the best terms he was familiar with, but the widow stoppedhim.
"The best way to thank me is to hustle out and trail up that flo-at. Ifit's there, find it. If it's not there, give o'er the search, for ye area gray man, Sherm Bidwell, and I'm not the woman I was eight years ago."
In the exaltation of the moment Bidwell rose, and his shoulders weresquared as he said: "I'm a-goin', Maggie. If I find it I'll come backand marry you. If I don't--I'll lay my useless old bones in the hills."
"Ah--go 'long! Don't be a crazy fool!" she said, but her face flushedwith pleasure at the sincerity of his tone. "Ye've made such promisesivery time before."
"I know I have, but I mean it now."
"Aho! so that's the way of it--ye didn't mean it before? Is that phwatye're sayin'?"
His proud pose collapsed. "You know what I mean--only you're such atormentin' little devil."
"Thank ye for the compliment, Mr. Bidwell."
Bidwell turned. "I'm going after old Nebuchadnezzar," he said, firmly."I can't waste time on a chicken-headed woman--"
"Out wid ye before I break the measly head of ye!" she retorted.
An hour later, with his mule packed with food and blankets and tools, hemoved off up the trail. The other men stood to watch him go, consumedwith curiosity, yet withholding all question.
The widow did not so much as look from the door as her grub-stakerdisappeared.
II
Three days later Bidwell crept stealthily down the trail, leading hismule as silently as possible. He timed his arrival so that Mrs. Delaneywould be in the kitchen alone with the Chinaman, getting the dishesready for breakfast.
"Who is ut?" called the widow as he softly knocked.
"Me--Sherm," he replied.
"Saints in hevin! What's the matter? Are ye sick?" she gasped as sheflung the door open.
"'Sh! Don't speak so loud," he commanded. "Sit down; I want to speaksolemn-like to you."
His tone impressed her deeply. "Have ye struck ut?" she asked,tremulously.
"I hain't found it yet, but I want to tell ye--I believe I've had ahunch. Send the 'chink' away."
Something in his tone stopped all scornful words upon her lips. Orderingthe Chinaman to bed, she turned and asked:
"Phwat do ye mean? Spake, man!"
"Well, sir, as I started up the trail something kept sayin' to me,'Sherman, you're on the wrong track.' It was just as if you pulled mysleeve and nudged me and said, '_This_ way!' I couldn't sleep thatnight. I just lay on the ground and figured. Up there high--terriblehigh--are seams of ore--I know that--but they're in granite and hard toget at. That's one gold belt. There's money in a mine up there, but itwill take money to get it. Then there's another gold belt down abouthere--or even lower--and I've just come to the conclusion that our mine,Maggie, is down here in the foot-hills, not on old Blanca."
The air of mystery which enveloped and transformed the man had itseffect on the woman. Her eyes opened wide.
"Was it a voice like?"
"No, it was more like a pull. Seemed to be pulling me to cross the creekwhere I found that chunk of porph'ritic limestone. I couldn't sleep thesecond night--and I've been in camp up there in Burro Park tryin' tofigure it all out. I hated to give up and come back--I was afraid ye'dthink I was weakening--but I can't help it. Now I'll tell you what I'mgoing to do--I'm going to make a camp over on the north side of thecreek. I don't want the boys to know where I've gone, but I wanted youto know what I'm doing--I wanted you to know--it's plum ghostly--itscared me."
She whispered, "_Mebbe it's Dan._"
"I thought o' that. Him and me were always good friends, and he was inmy mind all the while."
"But howld on, Sherm; it may be the divil leadin' ye on to break y'rneck as did Dan. 'Twas over there he fell."
"Well, I thought o' that, too. It's either Dan or the devil, and I'mgoing to find out which."
"The saints go wid ye!" said the widow, all her superstitious fearsaroused. "And if it _is_ Dan he'll sure be good to you fer my sake."
III
Sierra Blanca is the prodigious triple-turreted tower which stands atthe southern elbow of the Sangre de Cristo range. It is a massive butsymmetrical mountain, with three peaks so nearly of the same altitudethat the central dome seems the lowest of them all, though it isactually fourteen thousand four hundred and eighty feet above the sea.On the west and south this great mass rises from the flat, dry floor ofthe San Luis Valley in sweeping, curving lines, and the pinyons coverthese lower slopes like a robe of bronze green.
At eight thousand feet above the sea these suave lines become broken.The pinyons give place to pine and fir, and the somber canyons begin toyawn. It was just here, where the grassy hills began to break intosavage walls, that Bidwell made his camp beside a small stream whichfell away into Bear Creek to the south. From this camp he could look farout on the violet and gold of the valley, and see the railway trainspass like swift and monstrous dragons. He could dimly see the lights ofLas Animas also, and this led him to conceal his own camp-fire.
Each day he rode forth, skirting the cliffs, examining every bit of rockwhich showed the slightest mineral stain. Scarcely a moment of thedaylight was wasted in this search. His mysterious guide no longertouched him, and this he took to be a favorable omen. "I'm near it," hesaid.
One day he hitched his mule to a small dead pine at the foot of a steepcliff, and was climbing to the summit when a stone, dislodged by hisfeet, fell, bounced, thumped the mule in the ribs, and so scared theanimal that he pulled up the tree and ran away.
Angry and dispirited (for he was hungry and tired) Bidwell clambereddown and began to trail the mule toward camp. The tree soon clogged therunaway and brought him to a stand in a thicket of willows.
As Bidwell knelt to untie the rope his keen eyes detected the glitter ofgold in the dirt which still clung to the moist root of the pine. With asudden conviction of having unearthed his fortune, the miner sprang tohis saddle and hurried back to the spot whence the tree had been rived.It was dusk by the time he reached the spot, but he could detect gold inthe friable rock which lined the cavity left by the uprooted sapling.With a mind too excited to sleep he determined to stay with his findtill morning. To leave it involved no real risk of losing it, and yet hecould not bring himself to even build a camp-fire, for fear some onemight be drawn from the darkness to dispute his claim.
It was a terribly long night, and when old Blanca's southern peak beganto gleam out of the purple receding waves of the night the man's brainwas numb with speculation and suspense. Hovering over the little heap ofbroken rock which he had scooped out with h
is hands, he waited in almostfrenzied impatience for the sun.
He could tell by the feeling that the ore was what miners of his gradecall "rotten quartz," and he knew that it often held free gold inenormous richness. It was so friable he could crumble it in his hands,and so yellow with iron-stains that it looked like lumps of clay as thedawn light came. A stranger happening upon him would have feared forhis reason, so pale was his face, so bloodshot his eyes.
At last he could again detect the gleam of gold. Each moment as thelight grew the value of the ore increased. It was literally meshed withrusty free gold. The whole mound was made up of a disintegrated ledge ofporphyry and thousands of dollars were in sight. As his mind graspedthese facts the miner rose and danced--_but he did not shout_!
All that day he worked swiftly, silently, like an animal seeking toescape an enemy, digging out this rock and carrying it to a place ofconcealment in a deep thicket not far away. He did not stop to eat ordrink till mid-afternoon, and then only because he was staggering withweakness and his hands were growing ineffective. After eating he fellasleep and did not wake till deep in the night. For some minutes hecould not remember what had happened to him. At last his good fortunegrew real again. Saddling his mule, he rode up the creek and crossedmiles above his newly discovered mine, in order to conceal his trail,and it was well toward dawn before he tapped on the widow's window.
"Is that you, Sherm?" she asked.
"Yes. Get up quick; I have news!"
When she opened the kitchen door for him she started back. "For love ofGod, man, phwat have you been doin' wid yersilf?"
"Be quiet!" he commanded, sharply, and crept in, staggering under theweight of a blanket full of ore. "You needn't work any more, Maggie;I've got it. Here it is!"
"Man, ye're crazy! What have you there? Not gould!"
"You bet it is! Quartz jest _rotten_ with gold. Where can I hide it?"His manner would not have been wilder had his bag of ore been the bodyof a man he had murdered. "Quick! It's almost daylight."
"Let me see ut. I do _not_ believe ut."
He untied the blanket, and as the corners unrolled, disclosing thered-brown mass, even her unskilled eyes could see the gleaming grains ofpure metal. She fell on her knees and crossed herself.
"Praise be to Mary! Where did ye find ut--and how?"
"Not a word about that. I'm scared. If any one should find it while I amaway they could steal thousands of dollars. Why, it's like a pocket in aplacer! Get me every sack you can. Give me grub--and hide this. Thereare tons of it! This is the best of it. We are rich--rich as Jews,Maggie!"
They worked swiftly. The widow emptied a cracker-barrel and put the oreat the bottom, and then tumbled the crackers in on top of the ore. Sheset out some cold meat and bread and butter, and while Bidwell ate shebrought out every rag that could serve as a sack.
"I'll have more for ye to-morrow. I wish I c'u'd go wid ye, Sherm. I'dlike to set me claws at work at that dirt."
"I need help, but I am afraid to have a man. Well, I must be off.Good-by. I'll be back to-night with another load. I guess old Sherm isworth a kiss yet--eh--Maggie!"
"Be off wid ye. Can't ye see the dawn is comin'?" A moment later she ranup to him and gave him a great hug. "There--now haste ye!"
"Be silent!"
"As the grave itself!" she replied, and turned to brush up thecracker-crumbs. "That Chinese divil has sharp eyes," she muttered.
IV
It was inevitable that the golden secret should escape. Others besidesthe Chinese cook had sharp eyes, and the Widow Delaney grew paler andmore irritable as the days wore on. She had a hunted look. She hardlyever left her kitchen, it was observed, and her bedroom door had a newlock. Every second night Bidwell, gaunt and ragged, and furtive as aburglar, brought a staggering mule-load of the richest ore and stowed itaway under the shanty floor and in the widow's bedroom. Luckily minersare sound sleepers, or the two midnight marauders would have beendiscovered on the second night.
One day John, the cook, seized the cracker-barrel, intending to put itinto a different corner. He gave it a slight wrench, looked a littlesurprised, and lifted a little stronger. It did not budge. He remarked:
"Klackels belly hebby. No sabbe klackels allee same deese."
"_Let that alone!_" screamed Mrs. Delaney. "Phwat will ye be doin' nixt,ye squint-eyed monkey? I'll tell ye whin to stir things about."
The startled Chinaman gave way in profound dismay. "Me goin' s'eep loundklackel-ballell, you sabbe?"
"Well, I'll do the sweepin' there. I nailed that barrel to the flureapurpis. L'ave it alone, will ye?"
This incident decided her. That night, when Bidwell came, she broke out:
"Sherm, I cannot stand this anny longer. I'm that nairvous I can't heara fly buzz widout hot streaks chasin' up and down me spine like littlered snakes. And man, luk at yersilf. Why, ye're hairy as a go-at and yereyes are loike two white onions. I say stop, Sherm dear!"
"What'll we do?" asked Bidwell in alarm.
"Do? I'll tell ye phwat we'll do. We'll put our feets down and say,'Yis, 'tis true, we've shtruck ut, and it's ours.' Then I'll get a teamfrom Las Animas and load the stuff in before the face and eyes of theworld, and go wid it to sell it, whilst you load y'r gun an' stand guardover the hole in the ground. I'm fair crazy wid this burglar's business.We're both as thin as quakin' asps and full as shaky. You go down thetrail this minute and bring a team and a strong wagon--no wan will knowtill ye drive in. Now go!"
Bidwell was ruled by her clear and sensible words, and rode away intothe clear dark of the summer's night with a feeling that it was all adream--a vision such as he had often had while prospecting in themountains; but, as day came on and he looked back upon the red hole hehad made in the green hillside, the reality of it all came to pinch hisheart and make him gasp. His storehouse, his well of golden waters, wasunguarded, and open to the view of any one who should chance to lookthat way. He beat his old mule to a gallop in the frenzy of the moment.
The widow meanwhile got breakfast for the men, and as soon as they wereoff up the trail she set the awed and wondering Chinaman to hauling thesacks of ore out from beneath the shanty and piling them convenientlynear the roadway. She watched every movement and checked off each sacklike a shipping-clerk. "Merciful powers! the work that man did!" sheexclaimed, alluding to Bidwell, who had dug all that mass of ore andpacked it in the night from the mine to its safe concealment.
Of course, Mrs. Clark, the storekeeper's wife, saw them at work and cameover to see what was going on.
"Good morning, Mrs. Delaney. You're not going to move?"
"I am."
"I'm sorry. What's the reason of it? Why, that looks like ore!" she saidas she peered at a sack.
"It _is_ ore! and I'm goin' to ship it to the mill. Have ye annyobjection?" asked Mrs. Delaney, defiantly.
"Where did it come from?"
"That's _my_ business. There's wan more under there," she said to theChinaman, and as he came creeping out like a monstrous bug tugging apair of Bidwell's overalls (ore-filled), as if they formed the trunk ofa man whom he had murdered and hidden, Mrs. Clark turned and fled towardthe store to tell her husband.
"There ye go, now! Ye screech-owl," sneered the Widow Delaney. "It's allup wid us; soon the whole world will know of ut. Well--we're herefirst," she defiantly added.
Clark came over, pale with excitement. "Let me see that ore!" he calledout as he ran up and laid his hand on a sack.
"Get off--and stay off!" said Maggie, whipping a revolver out of herpocket. "That's my ore, and you let it alone!"
Clark recoiled in surprise, but the widow's anxiety to protect herproperty added enormously to his excitement. "The ore must be veryrich," he argued. "How do I know but that comes from one of my claims?"he asked.
The widow thrust the muzzle of the revolver under his nose. "Would yecall me a thafe? 'Tis well Bidwell is not here; he'd do more than makeye smell of a gun. Go back to yer own business--if ye value a wholeskin--an' stay away from phwat
does not concern ye."
All this was characteristically intemperate of Maggie, and by the timeBidwell came clattering up the trail with a big freight-wagon the wholegulch was aroused, and a dozen men encircled the heap of motley bags onwhich Mrs. Delaney sat, keeping them at bay.
When she heard the wagon her nerves steadied a little and she said, moresoberly: "Boys, there comes Bidwell with a wagon to haul this stuffaway, and, Johnson, you help him load it while I go see about dinner."
As Bidwell drove up a mutter of amazement ran round the group and eachman had his say.
"Why, Bid, what's the matter? You look like a man found dead."
"I'm just beginning to live!" said Bidwell, and the reply was longremembered in Bear Gulch.
"Well, now ye know all about it, ye gawks, take hold and help the manload up. I'll have dinner ready fer ye in a snort," repeated the widow.
Clark drew his partners aside. "He packed that ore here; he must haveleft a trail. You take a turn up the canyon and see if you can't find it.It's close by somewhere."
Bidwell saw them conferring and called out: "You needn't take anytrouble, Clark; I'll lead you to the place after dinner. My claim isstaked and application filed--so don't try any tricks on me."
The widow's eyes were equally keen, and the growing cupidity of the mendid not escape her. Coming out with a big meat sandwich, she said:"'Twill not do to sit down, Sherm; take this in yer fist and go. They'llall be slippin' away like snakes if ye don't. I'll take John and theore--we'll make it somehow--and I'll stay wid it till it's paid for."
She was right. The miners were struggling with the demons of desire andready to stampede at any moment. Hastily packing his mule, Bidwellstarted up the trail, saying:
"Fall in behind me, boys, and don't scrouge. The man who tries to crowdme off the trail will regret it."
They were quiet enough till he left the trail and started down towardthe Bear. Then Johnson cried, "I know where it is!" and plunged with awhoop into the thicket of willows that bordered the creek.
"Mebbe he does and mebbe he don't," said Clark. "I'm going to stick byBid till we get the lay o' the land."
They maintained fairly good order until Bidwell's trail became a plainline leading up the hillside; then the stampede began. With wild halloosand resounding thwacking of mules they scattered out, raced over thehilltop, and disappeared, leaving Bidwell to plod on with his ladenburro.
When he came in sight of his mine men were hammering stakes into theground on all sides of the discovery claim, and Clark and Johnson werein a loud wrangle as to who reached the spot first. Leading his mule upto the cliff wall where he had built a shelter, Bidwell unpacked hisoutfit, and as he stood his rifle against a rock he said:
"I'm planted right here, neighbors. My roots run deep underground, andthe man who tries to jump this claim will land in the middle of hellfire--now, that's right."
Their claims once staked and their loud differences stilled, the men hadleisure to come and examine the discovery claim.
"You've the best of it," said Cantor, an old miner. "There may not be anounce of gold outside your vein. It's a curious formation; I can't tellhow it runs."
Toward night the other miners left and went back to camp, leavingBidwell alone. As darkness came on he grew nervous again. "They'd killme if they dared," he muttered, as he crouched in his shelter, his gunon his knee. He was very sleepy, but resolved not to close his eyes. "IfI only had a dog--some one I could trust; but I haven't a soul," headded, bitterly, as his weakness grew. The curse of gold sat heavilyupon him and his hands were lax with weariness.
"I was a fool to let Maggie go off with that ore," he muttered, his mindfollowing the widow in her perilous journey down the gulch. He did notdistrust her; he only feared her ability to override the difficulties ofher mission. For the best part of his life he had sought the metalbeneath his feet, and, now that he had found it, his blood ran cold withsuspicion and fear.
Daylight brought a comparative sense of safety, and, building a fire, hecooked his breakfast in peace--though his eyes were restless. "Oh,they'll come," he said, aloud. "They'll boil in here on me in anotherhour or two."
And they did. The men from Delaney came first, followed a little laterby their partners from the high gulches, and after them the genuinestampeders. The merchants, clerks, hired hands, barbers, hostlers, andhalf-starved lawyers from the valley towns came pouring up the trailand, pausing just long enough to see the shine of gold in Bidwell'sdump, flung themselves upon the land, seizing the first unclaimedcontiguous claim without regard to its character or formation. Theirstakes once set, they began to roam, pawing at the earth likeprairie-dogs and quite as ineffectually. Swarms of the most curioussurrounded Bidwell's hole in the ground, picking at the ore and floodingthe air with shouts and questions till the old man in desperationordered them off his premises and set up a notice:
"Keep off this ground or meet trouble!"
To his friends he explained, "Every piece of rock they carry off isworth so much money."
"Ye've enough here to buy the warrld, mon," protested Angus Craig, anold miner from the north.
"I don't know whether I have or not," said Bidwell. "It may be just alittle spatter of gold."
That night the whole range of foot-hills was noisy with voices andsparkling with camp-fires. From the treeless valleys below these lightscould be seen, and the heavily laden trains of the San LuisAccommodation trailed a loud hallelujah as the incoming prospectorslifted their voices in joyous greeting to those on the mountainside.
"It's another Cripple Creek!" one man shouted, and the cry struck home."We're in on it," they all exulted.
Bidwell did not underestimate his importance in this rush ofgold-frenzied men. He was appalled by the depth and power of the streamscentering upon him. For weeks he had toiled to the full stretch of hispowers without sufficient sleep, and he was deathly weary, emaciated tothe bone, and trembling with nervous weakness, but he was indomitable. Along life of camping, prospecting, and trenching had fitted him towithstand even this strain, and to "stay with it" was an instinct withhim. Therefore he built a big fire not far from the mine and spread hisblankets there; but he did not lie down till after midnight, and onlythen because he could not keep awake, even while in sitting posture. "Imust sleep, anyhow," he muttered. "I can't stand this any longer. I mustsleep"--And so his eyes closed.
He was awakened by a voice he knew calling out: "Is this the way yewatch y'r mine, Sherm Bidwell?" And, looking up, he saw the WidowDelaney sitting astride a mule and looking down at him with tenderamusement. "Ye are a pitcher; sure! Ye look like wan o' the holy saintsof ould--or a tramp. Help me off this baste and I'll turn to and scorcha breakfast for ye."
He staggered stiffly to his feet and awkwardly approached her. "I hadonly just dropped off," he apologized.
"Ye poor lad!" she said, compassionately. "Ye're stiff as a poker widcold."
"How did ye come out with the ore?" he asked.
"Thrust y'r Maggie! I saw it loaded into a car and sent away. Bedad, Ihad a moind to go wid it to the mill, but I says, Sherm nor mesilf canbe in two places to wanst. So I gave o'er the notion and came home.They'll thieve the half of it, av coorse, but so goes the world, divilcatch it!"
The widow was a powerful reinforcement. She got breakfast while Bidwelldozed again, and with the influence of hot coffee and the genial sun thefirm grew confident of holding at least the major part of theirmonstrous good luck.
"Thrust no wan but me," said the widow in decisive warning. "The worldis full of rogues. From this toime ivery man's hand is agin' y'rgold--schamin' to reach y'r pockets. Rest yersilf and I'll look afterthe gould. From this toime on we work only wid our brains."
She did indeed become the captain. On her advice he sent a man forore-sacks and tools, while other willing hands set to work to build acabin to shelter them.
"We're takin' no chances," she said; "we camp right here."
That day Las Animas, Crestone, Powder Gulch, and Los G
atos emptiedthemselves upon the hills, and among them were representatives of bigfirms in Denver, Colorado Springs, and Pueblo. The path past the MaggieMine was worn deep by the feet of the gold-seekers, and Bidwell's rudepole barrier was polished by the nervous touch of greedy palms.
About ten o'clock a quiet man in a gray suit of clothes asked Bidwell ifhe wanted to sell. Bidwell said, "No," short and curt, but Maggie asked,with a smile, "How much?"
"Enough to make you comfortable for life. If it runs as well as thissample I'll chance fifty thousand dollars on it."
Maggie snorted. "Fifty thousand! Why, I tuk twoice that to the mill lastnight."
"Let me get in and examine the mine a little closer. I may be able toraise my bid."
"Not till ye make it wan hundred thousand may you even have a luk atit," she replied.
Other agents came--some confidential, others coldly critical, but allequally unsuccessful. The two "idiots" could not see why they shouldturn over the gold which lay there in sight to a syndicate. It wastheirs by every right, and though the offers went far beyond theirconception they refused to consider them.
All day axes resounded in the firs, and picks were busy in the gullies.Camp goods, provisions, and bedding streamed by on trains of mules, andby nightfall a city was in its initial stages--tent stores, open-airsaloons, eating-booths, and canvas hotels. A few of the swarmingincomers were skeptical of the find, but the larger number werehilariously boastful of their locations, and around their eveningcamp-fires groups gathered to exult over their potentialities.
The sun had set, but the western slope of the hill was still brilliantwith light as Bidwell's messenger with his sumpter horse piled highwith bales of ore-sacks came round the clump of firs at the corner ofBidwell's claim. He was followed by a tall man who rode with a tireddroop and nervous clutching at the rein.
Bidwell stared and exclaimed, "May I be shot if the preachers aren'ttakin' a hand in the rush!"
The widow looked unwontedly rosy as she conclusively said, "I sent forhim, man dear!"
"You did? What for?"
The widow was close enough now to put her hand in the crook of hiselbow. "To make us wan, Sherm darlin'. There's no time like theprisent."
Bidwell tugged at his ragged beard. "I wish I had time to slick up abit."
"There'll be plinty of time for that afterward," she said. "Go welcomethe minister."
In the presence of old Angus Craig and young Johnson they were married,and when the minister gave Mrs. Bidwell a rousing smack she wiped herlips with the back of her hand and said to Bidwell:
"Now we're ayqul partners, Sherm, and all old scores wiped out."
And old Angus wagged his head and said, "Canny lass, the widdy!"
When the news of this marriage reached the camp demons of laughter anddisorder were let loose. Starting from somewhere afar off, a loudprocession formed. With camp-kettles for drums and aspen-bark whistlesfor pipes, with caterwaul and halloo, the whole loosely cohering army ofprospectors surrounded the little log cabin of the Maggie Mine andshouted in wild discord:
"Bidwell! Come forth!"
"A speech! A speech!"
Bidwell was for poking his revolver out through the unchinked walls andordering the mob to disperse, but his wife was diplomatic.
"'Tis but an excuse to get drink," she said. "Go give them treat."
So Bidwell went forth, and, while a couple of stalwart friends liftedhim high, he shouted, sharp and to the point, "It's on me, Clark!"
The mob, howling with delight, rushed upon him and bore him away,struggling and sputtering, to Clark's saloon, where kegs of beer werebroached and the crowd took a first deep draught. Bidwell, in alarm forMaggie, began to fight to get back to the cabin. But cries arose for thebride.
"The bride--let's see the bride!"
Bidwell expostulated. "Oh no! Leave her alone. Are you gentlemen? If youare, you won't insist on seeing her."
In the midst of the crowd a clear voice rang out:
"The bride, is it? Well, here she is. Get out o' me way."
"Clear the road there for the bride!" yelled a hundred voices as Maggiewalked calmly up an aisle densely walled with strange men. She had beenaccustomed to such characters all her life, and knew them too well to beafraid. Mounting a beer-keg, she turned a benign face on the crowd. Thelight of the torches lighted her hair till it shone like spun gold in ahalo round her head. She looked very handsome in the warm, sympatheticlight of the burning pitch-pine.
"Oh yiss, Oi'll make a speech; I'm not afraid of a handful oftwo-by-fours like you tenderfeet from the valley, and when me speech isended ye'll go home and go to bed. Eleven days ago Sherm, me man,discovered this lode. Since then we've both worked night and day to gitout the ore--we're dog-tired--sure we are--but we're raisonable folk andhere we stand. Now gaze y'r fill and go home and l'ave us to rest--likey'r dacent mothers would have ye do."
"Good for you, Maggie!" called old Angus Craig, who stood near her."Mak' way, lads!"
The men opened a path for the bride and groom and raised a thunderingcheer as they passed.
Old Angus Craig shook his head again and said to Johnson: "Sik a luckcanna last. To strike a lode and win a braw lass a' in the day, ye maysay. Hoo-iver, he waited lang for baith."
THE COW-BOSS
_--the reckless cowboy on his watch-eyed bronco still lopes across the grassy foot-hills--or holds his milling herd in the high parks._
They of the High Trails Page 2
