CHAPTER XXVIII
WORK AND SONG
Having presently finished her breakfast, Beth joined the group outside,curious to behold the workings of a placer mine in actual operation.
There was not much to see, but it was picturesque. In their lack offunds the partners had constructed the simplest known device forcollecting the gold from the sand. They had built a line of sluices,or troughs of considerable length, propped on stilts, or supports aboutknee high, along the old bed of the canyon. The sluices were meresquare flumes, set with a fairly rapid grade.
Across the bottom of all this flume, at every yard or less of itslength, small wooden cleats had been nailed, to form the "riffles."Into the hoses the water from the creek was turned, at the top. Themen then shoveled the sand in the running stream and away it went,sluicing along the water-chute, its particles rattling down the woodenstairway noisily. The gold was expected to settled behind the riffles,owing to its weight.
All the flume-way dripped from leakages. The sun beat down upon theplace unshaded. Water escaped into all the pits the men were diggingas they worked, so that they slopped around in mud above their ankles.Dave wore rubber boots and was apparently protected. As a matter offact the boots promptly filled with water. Napoleon and Gettysburgmade no effort to remain dry shod, but puddled all day with sousedfootgear.
Van rode off to the "reservation town," a mile below the hill, tobargain for a tent reported there for sale. Sleeping quarters here onthe claim were far too crowded. Until lumber for a cabin could bepurchased they must make what shifts they might.
It had taken but the briefest time for the miners to go at their work.Beth stood near, watching the process with the keenest interest. Itseemed to her a back-breaking, strenuous labor. These sturdy oldfellows, grown gray and stooped with toil--grown also expectant ofhardship, ill-luck, and privations--were pathetic figures, despitetheir ways of cheer.
That Van had attached them to himself in a largeness of heart by nomeans warranted by their worth was a conviction at which anyone mustpromptly arrive. They were lovable old scamps, faithful, honest, andloyal to the man they loved--but that was all that could be stated.Perhaps it was enough. As partners with whom to share both life andfortune they might have seemed impossible to many discerning men.
Beth sat down on a rock, near Gettysburg. Someway she, too, liked thethree old chaps of whom work had made three trademarks. Old Gettysburgbegan to sing. The words of his song, halted by grunts as he shoveled,were, to say the least, unexpected:
The frog he swore he'd have a ride, (Shovel) With a rinktum bolly kimo; Sword and pistols by his side, (Shovel) With a rinktum bolly kimo. For lunch he packed a beetle bug, (Shovel) With a rinktum bolly kimo; Tucked inside his tummy snug, (Shovel) With a rinktum bolly kimo.
Kimo, karo, pito, garo, Kimo, bolly mitty kimo. (Shovel) Shing-shang hammyriddle, allibony, ringtang, Folderolli bolly mitty kimo. (Three shovelings and some meditation)
The frog he rode a slimy eel, (Shovel) With a rinktum bolly kimo. The sun made his complexion peel, (Shovel) With a rinktum bolly kimo. The frog's legs went to join a fry, (Shovel) With a rinktum bolly kimo. The eel became a juicy pie, (Shovel) With a rinktum bolly kimo.
(Chorus)
Napoleon looked up at the end of the song and spat upon his hands.
"Gett," he said placidly, "I think that's a lie--metaphorical speakin'.Ain't mad, are you?"
Gettysburg made no response. He merely shoveled.
One of the sluices, weakened by a leak that had undermined its pinning,fell from place, at the farther end of the line. Old Dave went down torepair it. Napoleon took advantage of his absence to come to Beth,with an air of imparting something confidential.
"Splice my main brace," said he, with his head on one side, quaintly,"wasn't that a blasphermous yarn old Dave was givin' us about the windblowing that log chain away a link at a time? Old son of a gun!"
Beth was inquisitive.
"Why do you call him a son of a gun?"
Napoleon scratched his head.
"Well, you see, Dave's mother held up his father with a Colt forty-fiveand makes him marry her. Then along comes Dave. I reckon that makeshim a sure enough son of a gun."
Beth said: "Oh." She turned a little red.
"Yep, good old cuss, Dave is, though. No good for a seafearing man,however. He could never learn to swear--he ain't got no ear for music."
He returned to his shovel. He and Gettysburg worked in silence forfifteen minutes. Old Dave returned and joined them. Gettysburg tunedup for another of his songs, the burden of which was the tale of ahen-pecked man.
Once more at its end Napoleon looked up and spat on his hands.
"There ain't nothing that can keep some women down 'cept agravestone--and I've seen some gravestones which was tilted."
Despite the interest and amusement she felt in it all, Beth wasbecoming sleepy as she sat there in the sun. She shook off the spelland arose, approaching closer to the bank and flume where Gettysburgwas toiling. He labored on, silently, for several minutes, thenpaused, straightened up by degrees, as if the folds in his back werestubborn, and looked at their visitor steadily, his glass eyeparticularly fixed. One of his hands pulled down his jaw, and then itclosed up with a thump.
"Guess this kind of a racket is sort of new to you, Mr. Kent," heventured. "Ever seen gold washin' before?"
"No," Beth confessed, "and I don't see where the gold is to come fromnow."
Gettysburg chuckled. "Holy toads! Miners do a heap of work and neversee it neither. Me and Van and Napoleon has went through purg andback, many's the time, and was lucky to git out with our skeletons,sayin' nuthin' about the gold."
"Oh." She could think of nothing else to say.
"In fact Van was all that got me out onct--Napoleon, too. We wasn'tworth it, prob'ly. That's the joke on Van. Since then us three cusseshas starved, and froze, and clean roasted, chasin' gold."
"Oh."
"We was lost in the snow, one winter, with nuthin' to eat but a plug oftobacker, a can of vasolene, and a porous plaster. We lived on thatmenu fer a week--that and snow-soup. But Van got us out allright--packed Napoleon about five miles on his back. Nap was so thinthere wasn't enough of him to die." His one good eye became dreamilyfocused on the past. He smiled. "But someways the desert is worsethan the snow. We got ketched three times without no water. Never didknow, Nap or me, how Van got our two old dried-up carcasses out thelast time, down to Death Valley. He's a funny cuss, old Van."
Once more Beth merely answered: "Oh."
"You bet!" resumed Gettysburg. "He never quits. It ain't in him. Heworks his hands off and his soul out of its socket, every time." Helaughed heartily. "Lord! we have done an awful lot of fool work fernuthin'! We've tackled tunnels and shafts, and several games likethis, and pretty near died a dozen different styles--all uneasy kindsof dyin'--and we've lived when it was a darn sight uneasier thancroakin', and kept on tryin' out new diggin's, and kept on bein' bustedall the time. 'Nuff to make a lemon laugh, the fun we've had. Butnow, by Jupe! we've struck it at last--and it ain't a-goin' to gitaway!"
"Oh, I'm glad--I'm glad!" said Beth, winking back a bit of suspiciousmoisture that came unbidden in her eyes as she looked on thisweather-beaten, hardship-beaten old figure, still sturdily ready forthe fates. "I'm sure you all deserve it! I'm sure of that!"
"Wal, that's a question fer God Almighty," Gettysburg replied. "Butthere's the gold, the good yellow gold! And I'm awful glad fer Van!"
Into the water he dipped his crooked old fingers, and scratching downbehind a riffle he fetched up a small amount of gold, doubly brightwith the water and the sunlight upon it.
"Gold--and we git it easy," he added, repeating: "I'm awful glad ferVan. You ought to see him shovel!" He dropped the gold back into thewater carelessly. "It ain't a-goin' to do us ol
d jack-legged cussesmuch good, at our age, but I would like to go to San Francisco thissummer once, and shoot the chutes!"
The Furnace of Gold Page 28
