The Pike's Peak Rush; Or, Terry in the New Gold Fields

by Edwin L. Sabin

  CHAPTER IX

  NOW WHERE IS THE "ELEPHANT"?

  It was Journalist Villard, tanned and whiskered, and already booted andshirted and armed like the rest of the inhabitants. He shook handsvigorously with them.

  "Pretty fair," replied Harry. "We've just got in. You seem to be theonly person we know here."

  "I won't be that only person long," laughed Mr. Villard. "The ends ofthe world are gathering here at the rate of a thousand a day. Why, bythat very stage arrived a banker I used to know well in Cincinnati, andanother friend at whose house in New York I've often eaten dinner. Butthe reason I met the stage was that I rather expected to find in itHorace Greeley and A. D. Richardson. They're on the way."

  "Not Horace Greeley of the New York _Tribune_?" queried Harry, as ifastonished.

  "Yes; that's the Greeley. Mr. Richardson represents the Boston _Journal_and some other Eastern papers. All we newspaper fellows will write thetruth about the gold fields."

  "How near is the gold?" eagerly asked Terry. "Can you show us where todig? Have you dug?"

  "Not very much. Not for a dollar and a half a day--and that's the mostanybody is getting hereabouts. The whole creek bed is being turnedupside down. But you see that line of pilgrims trailing out into themountains, west across the Platte?"

  "Yes."

  "That's a rush to some new diggin's. They're following a new strike.It's reported on good authority that a Georgian named John Gregory hasfound the mother vein, as they call it, about forty miles out. It's apound-a-day strike, according to the say, and the gold down below hasbeen washed from that vein. The people are flocking in by the fivehundred at a time. I haven't been up there myself yet, but I hope thenews is true. Another month and we'd have had a riot in these CherryCreek diggin's. As it is, about half the in-comers have pulled out forCalifornia, or home--and there's been talk of hanging D. C. Oakes, whoissued a 'Pike's Peak Guide' last winter, and Editor Byers, of the_News_."

  "Are those new diggin's on the Platte?" asked Harry, keenly.

  "No. There're up Clear Creek, and nowhere near the Platte."

  "Oh, jiminy!" sighed Terry. "Aren't there mines closer than that? Myfather was out here last summer and found one just a few miles away, upthe Platte River."

  "A Fifty-eighter, is he? Is he here now, and where's his mine?"

  "No, sir; he came home sick, at Christmas; and he doesn't remember. Buthe had some dust."

  "Those early claims didn't amount to much, as I understand," stated Mr.Villard. "That's what has fooled the people."

  "Are any of the Russell brothers hereabouts?" asked Harry.

  "The original boomers? Yes, they're all here now. Dr. Levi Russell hasspent the winter here; but Green Russell and J. Oliver have just got infrom Georgia with another party of some one hundred and fifty. You'llfind them over at Auraria, though. You know, Green Russell locatedAuraria and named it for his home town in Georgia. The Aurarians andDenverites don't mix much, except when the stage comes. The Russellswill likely be at the Eldorado Hotel this evening."

  "And where's Archie Smith? Did you bring him through all right?"

  "Yes. We landed him here. But I think he's joined the rush into themountains. What are you boys intending to do now? Camp and refit, Isuppose, before you look for your mine. Which are you going tobe--Denverites or Aurarians?"

  "Both," laughed Harry. "But Auraria's flying the United States flag, Isee."

  "That's over their hotel, the Eldorado. Mrs. Murat made it. Her husbandclaims to be an Italian count. He does barbering, and she takes inwashing--and together, at the prices they charge, they're getting rich agreat deal faster than most of these gold-seekers. Auraria's proud ofthat flag, because it's the only one in the state. Denver pretends topoke fun at it, and says it's a laundry sign, manufactured from old redand blue shirts and Mrs. Murat's white petticoat."

  "What state?" demanded Harry.

  "The new State of Jefferson--the future new state. Things move fast outhere. A convention was held last month by the miners, to organize foranother convention on June 8 when a state constitution will be adoptedand sent to Congress. Some people wanted the state named Pike's Peak.You'll see the convention call in the _Rocky Mountain News_. Ah----!"and Mr. Villard gazed aside. "There's a man I ought to talk with.Good-bye; meet you later, I hope."

  "I don't believe we'll wait for that convention," proposed Harry. "And Idon't believe we ought to put in much time hunting for your father'smine. We'll get right into the new diggin's before every spot's taken."Harry evidently was catching the fever. "First, though----"

  "Paper? _Rocky Mountain News!_ Fresh off the press! Buy a paper, Mister?Tell you all about the latest strikes, and where to go."

  He was a very slim, tall young man whose trousers were finished offbelow the knees with gunny sacking, in order to cover his long legs.

  "Yes. Let me have one," responded Harry. And added, to Terry, whilehanding out a dime: "That'll give us the quickest information."

  The tall slim young man was turning the dime over and over in his palm.

  "No good," he said. "Nothing less than a quarter goes, out here."

  "But they told us picks and spades are fifteen cents."

  "In trade, maybe. But these papers are a quarter, Mister. Two bits.That's the smallest change in camp. Dust or coin."

  "Hum!" grunted Harry, producing a quarter. He scratched his nose as heglanced at the paper. "At this rate we'll soon be busted."

  The paper was entitled "_Rocky Mountain News_, Cherry Creek, K. T."--theinitials standing, of course, for Kansas Territory. W. N. Byers wasproprietor. It was printed on a coarse brownish paper--seemed to be fullof items about gold being brought in from "gulches"--a number ofadvertisements and announcements--had the convention call--

  "We'll read it in camp," quoth Harry. "Gwan, Duke! Jenny! Haw!"

  "Want to sell that buffalo, stranger?" interrupted another voice.

  This man was a square, stubbly faced, red-faced and red-hairedindividual, in a faded cotton shirt and old army trousers belted at thewaist with a rope.

  "Why--I don't know," replied Harry, reflectively, scratching his nose.

  The man walked around Duke, scrutinizing him.

  "He's got a buckskin patch on. We'd better watch out," whispered Terry,to his partner. So he had: the whole seat of his trousers was buckskincoarsely stitched in place.

  "Half the men in camp have buckskin or other patches," chuckled Harry."That gives me an idea."

  "Offer you $25, dust, stranger," abruptly spoke the man. "He's lame. Youcan't use him. He'll be no good in the diggin's."

  "What'll you do with him, then?" questioned Harry.

  "Put him in my show. He won't have to work. And he's too tough forbutchering. But he'll be all right on exhibition."

  "Hum!" mused Harry. "My partner and I'll talk it over. We're going tocamp over night before going on."

  "If you're aiming for the mountains, you'll have to leave him, anyway.The trail is straight up--takes twenty oxen to haul half a ton. I'llgive you $35, dust, for buffalo and cart. I'll exhibit 'em both."

  "We'll talk it over," repeated Harry.

  "So long, then. You can find me. Name of Reilly."

  "What do you say, Terry?" queried Harry, as they continued on to acamping spot. "Duke's yours."

  "No, he's part of the outfit. We're in together, aren't we? But I'd hateto sell him unless he'll be treated well. Maybe we ought to sell him;he's lame. Haven't we any money left?"

  "Mighty little. And we're nearly out of grub, too. If newspapers aretwenty-five cents each, what'll a sack of flour cost? I was thinking ofa shave and a hair-cut, but----! I'll shave myself and we'll cut eachother's hair."

  "If that mine is somewhere around yet, we may not have to sell him."

  "And we'll need the cart to pack our gold in," added Harry. "But Dukeand the cart wouldn't be much good up in the mountains, I should think."

  They were fortunate in finding a camping place, with wood and water,near the mouth of
Cherry Creek, at the Platte, and there tied Duke andJenny out. The first thing to do was to wash--the next thing to writehome--and the next, to have an early supper.

  "We'll go back in before the post-office closes, look for some of theRussells, and do all that we can; and be ready to start right alongsomewhere or other in the morning."

  "That's it," agreed Terry. "Whew, but there must be a lot of peoplehunting gold. Wonder if all of those on that trail are bound for theGregory diggin's! We'll have to hurry." For he was getting the fever,too.

  "We will," promised Harry.

  When they had left Shep on guard and had hastened back into Denver, aline of men extended for one hundred yards from the window in the stageoffice labeled "Letter Express." Harry stood in the line until almostsunset. He returned to Terry with puzzled face.

  "We got a letter, all right, but it cost twenty-five cents extra, andthe one I mailed cost another twenty-five cents, just up to Fort Laramieon the North Platte. Then the government takes it on. There's only aprivate express out of here, for mail, and it's doing a great business."

  However, that letter from the Big Blue was worth the twenty-five cents.

  Now, with the approach of night, Denver and Auraria, its neighbor, werelively. The Denver House hotel seemed to be devoted mainly to drinkingand gambling. The long bar was crowded with all sorts of people; andbehind the card tables sat men, some of them in white silk shirts andblack broadcloth suits, urging bets.

  Across the street was a collection of Indian tepees--an Arapahoevillage, according to report. The women and children stayed among thelodges, but their husbands and fathers strolled everywhere, in blanketsand buffalo robes, saying little and seeing much.

  "There's Chief Little Raven--and Left Hand, too!" exclaimed Terry. "Waita second. I'm going to ask them about Thunder Horse."

  Little Raven and Left Hand soberly shook hands with their formeracquaintances.

  "Thunder Horse he dead from his leg," explained Left Hand. "Dog bitepoison him--mebbe he poison dog. Whiskey bad, make him fool. One day hedie; the two foolish men who run away in that wagon take him on in wagonand sell him same day to one big-mouth man near the Republican trail.Now his head is in Aurary. You want to see?"

  "Pine Knot Ike's come!" asserted Terry, as he and Harry proceeded toAuraria, whither they were bound anyway. "I don't want to see him."

  "I'd a heap rather see Sol," answered Harry. "But we'll try to see theRussells. That's important."

  The creek was so nearly dry that several tents and log shacks had beenplaced in its sandy bed. The banks were about four feet high here, anda shaky log foot-bridge crossed from town to town.

  Auraria was larger than Denver City, but the buildings were rougher,whereas the Denver City logs had been surfaced and trimmed. Still,Auraria seemed to have the principal store building, as yet--a story anda half high, with a lumber roof. The upper floor was occupied by the_Rocky Mountain News_. Through the glass window the printers might beseen setting type. Under them was a noisy saloon.

  Miners, emigrants, Mexicans, Indians--flannel shirts, heavy boots,moccasins, much whiskers and long hair: in this respect the Auraria outof doors was like the Denver out of doors.

  "I hear Ike," said Terry.

  At the corner just beyond the Eldorado Hotel somebody stationed beside aflaring pitchy torch was declaiming in a loud voice, before a largetent. But it wasn't Pine Knot Ike. It was the red-headed Mr. Reilly. Ona placard across the tent front was the announcement, rudely charcoaled:

  "SEE IT! SEE IT! SEE IT! The Ferocious Head of Chief Bloody Knife! Cannibal of the Plains! Slain in Hand-to-Hand Conflict by the Noted Frontiersman Black Panther! Admission 50c gold."

  Evidently this was the show to which Mr. Reilly had referred. Standingon a barrel, and occasionally coughing from the smoke of the torchfastened to an upright against the barrel, he strenuously invited thepublic inside. He accepted the price, and waved each patron to passwithin. However, business was not at all brisk; and suddenly catchingthe eye of Harry, he beckoned.

  "Go inside, gentlemen," he bade. "It's my treat. Walk in; view theferocious cannibal head and the equally ferocious scout who cut it offafter killing the wearer of it."

  "Aw----!" attempted Terry; but Harry, with a nudge, interrupted him.

  "Go on in, Terry. I'll talk with Mr. Reilly a minute."

  The tent contained several whiskered, booted miners and emigrants,gazing at the hideous head of Thunder Horse, also on a barrel--Ike'sbarrel--and on a stool beside the barrel was seated Ike himself, aliasthe "noted frontiersman, Black Panther." Ike's thick black hair andwhiskers were shaggier than ever. He was attired in the same greasyslouch hat, but furthermore in a shabby, red-flannel-trimmed buckskinshirt whose gaudy fringes fell to his boot-tops. Around his waist werebelted two revolvers and a butcher-knife, and against his knees rested abattered, large-muzzled yager or smooth-bore musket--fortunatelyharmless by reason of lacking a trigger.

  From amidst his hair and whiskers Ike stared before him fiercely andfixedly, occasionally slowly blinking in the light of a tallow candlelantern.

  It all was so perfectly absurd that--but hold on! Look out! Bang! Bang!Without a word a red-shirted miner who had been intently gazing andswaying as if drunk had whipped out his revolver and fired. At the firstshot, away spun the head, and simultaneously with the second shot away,uttering a loud shout, had dived Black Panther the notedfrontiersman--half through the tent and half under the tent,disappearing while almost tumbling the canvas on top of the company. Hewas gone before his stool had ceased rolling.

  "Set 'em up ag'in!" roared the red-shirted miner. "Fetch on the rest o'that Injun! Whoop-ee! Whar's that air Panther man? I want to show himsome shootin'! I'm an Injun killer myself from Pike County, Missoury!"

  Into the tent, now filled with shouts and laughter and powder smoke,rushed Mr. Reilly, close followed by the alarmed Harry. The miner'sfriends led him out. Mr. Reilly picked up the head, which, weathered ashard and as dry as a mummy's head, now was drilled right through fromnose to back of skull--which did not improve its face any. But Mr.Reilly seemed delighted.

  "That bullet hole's the best thing yet," he declared. "I'll have tochange the name of the scout to Dead-Shot Bill. But wait till I ketchthat other man--the measley rabbit, ripping my tent to pieces anddisgracing the clothes I lent him. How'd one of you boys like to beDead-Shot Bill, for a spell?"

  "Nope, thank you," laughed Harry. "Come on, Terry. We've got morebusiness to 'tend to."

  "Well, we can sell him the cart and Duke for $50," informed Harry,outside. "He's getting together a show. It will be a soft job for Duke;no heavy hauling, just standing 'round and eating and looking wild."

  "I wouldn't sell him Duke if Ike's to be in the show, too," declaredTerry.

  "Ike," assured Harry, "will never be back. He's probably running yet.And maybe we won't have to sell Duke. Now for the Russells, anyway.We'll try the Eldorado."

  But they were relieved from entering the crowded Eldorado byencountering Journalist Villard and another man just stepping out.

  "Ah!" spoke Mr. Villard, recognizing them, in the dusk. "If you wish toask Mr. Green Russell anything, here he is."

  "Yes; we want to ask him if he remembers a man in his party of lastsummer by the name of Jones," said Harry, quickly, for it was apparentthat Messrs. Villard and Russell were in a hurry.

  "I shorely do," responded Mr. Russell. He was a broad-shouldered man,with sparse beard and long-pointed moustache--had a cool eye and adeliberate speech.

  "He is this boy's father," continued Harry. "He came home with some dustand claimed to have located a mine about a day's travel from here, onthe Platte."

  "If that was Fifty-eight, 'tain't wuth looking after now," decided Mr.Russell. "Too close in. I reckon it was yonder whar we had some drydiggin's that we-all worked out, 'round Placer Camp."

  "Captain Russell's an old miner, you know," put in Mr. Villard. "He'sprospected through here
pretty closely, since he came out first, and sohave his brothers; and they're convinced that the only paying mines willbe found in the mountains."

  "Yes," drawled Mr. Russell. "These hyar sandy creeks peter out. You haveto get up higher, into the gravel and rock."

  He and Mr. Villard passed on, only to be repeatedly stopped andquestioned in their progress.

  "That settles us, I think," said Harry, as he and Terry turned for theircamp. "We'll pack Jenny and light out for the Gregory Gulch region.We've got to have a mine ready for your father when he comes, so as topay him back the 'grub-stake.'"

  "And another ready for George to work," reminded Terry. "He'll expect anelephant, too."

  As the two partners recrossed the foot-bridge into Denver City, nighthad cloaked the mountains in the west and had enfolded all the plains.Down here lights flickered in tents and through the chinking ofwindowless, floorless and sometimes roofless cabins, twinkled among theother gold-seekers' camps spread over the broken brush, and on thetrails in north and south and yonder for Gregory Gulch.