Silver and Gold: A Story of Luck and Love in a Western Mining Camp

by Dane Coolidge

  CHAPTER XIII

  SWEDE LUCK

  As the sun set that evening in a trailing blaze of glory Denver Russellcame out and sat with bared arms, looking lazily down at the town. Thenews of his strike had roused them at last, these easy-going, do-nothingold-timers; and now, from an outcast, a crack-brained hobo miner, he wassuddenly accepted as an equal. They spoke to him, they recognized him,they rushed up to his mine and stared at the ore he had dug; and eventhe Professor had purloined a specimen to take over and show to Murray.And all because, while the rest of them loafed, he had drifted in on hisvein until he cut the stringer of copper. It was Swede luck again--theluck of that great people who invented the wheel-barrow, and taught theIrish to stand erect and run it.

  Denver could smile a little, grimly, as he recalled Old Bunker's storiesand his fleering statement that a mule could work; but, now that he hadstruck copper at the breast of his tunnel, the mule was suddenly agentleman. He was good enough to speak to, and for Bunker's daughter tospeak to, and for his wife to invite to supper; and all on account of avein of copper that was scarcely two inches thick. It was rich and itwidened out, instead of pinching off as a typical gash-vein would; andwhile it would take a fortune to develop it, it was copper, and copperwas king. Silver and gold mines were nothing now, for silver was downand gold was losing its purchasing power; but the mining journals werefull of articles about copper, and it had risen to thirty cents a pound.

  Thirty cents, when a few years ago it had dropped as low as eleven! Andit was still going up, for the munition factories were clamoring for itand the speculators were bidding up futures. Even Bible-Back Murray, whohad a reputation as a pincher, had suddenly become prodigal with hismoney and was working day and night, trying to tap a hidden copperdeposit. He had caught the contagion, the lure of tremendous profits,and he was risking his all on the venture. What would he have to say nowif his diamond drill tapped nothing and a hobo struck it rich over atQueen Creek? Well, he could say what he pleased, for Denver wasdetermined not to sell for a million dollars. He had come there with apurpose, in answer to a prophecy, and there yet remained to win thegolden treasure and the beautiful woman who was an artist.

  Every little thing was coming as the seeress had predicted--good OldMother Trigedgo with her cards and astrology--and all that was necessarywas to follow her advice and the beautiful Drusilla would be his. Hemust treat her at first like any young country girl, as if she had nobeauty or charm; and then in some way, unrevealed as yet, he would winher love in return. He had schooled himself rigidly to resist herfascination, but when she had looked up at him with her beseeching blueeyes and asked him to sell back the mine, only a miracle of intercessionhad saved him from yielding and accepting back the five hundred dollars.He was like clay in her hands--her voice thrilled him, her eyes dazzledhim, her smile made him forget everything else--yet just at the momentwhen he had reached out for the money the memory of the prophecy hadcome back to him. And so he had refused, turning a deaf ear to herentreaties, and scoffing at her easy-going father; and she had gone offdown the trail without once looking back, promising Bunker she wouldbecome a great singer.

  Denver smiled again dreamily as he dwelt upon her beauty, her hair likefine-spun gold, her eyes that mirrored every thought; and with it all, asomething he could not name that made his heart leap and choke him. Hecould not speak when she first addressed him, his brain had gone into awhirl; and so he had sat there, like a great oaf of a miner, and refusedto give her anything. It was rough, yet the Cornish seeress had requiredit; and doubtless, being a woman herself, she understood the feminineheart. At the end of his long reverie Denver sighed again, for the waysof astrologers were beyond him.

  In the morning he rose early, to muck out the rock and clear the tunnelfor a new round of holes; and each time as he came out with awheel-barrow full of waste he cocked his eye to the west. Bible-BackMurray would be coming over soon, if he was still at his camp around thehill. Yet the second day passed before he arrived, thundering in fromthe valley in his big, yellow car; and even then he made some purchasesat the store before he came up to the mine.

  "Good morning!" he hailed cheerily, "they tell me you've struck ore.Well, well; how does the vein show up?"

  "'Bout the same," mumbled Denver and glanced at him curiously. He hadexpected a little fireworks.

  "About the same, eh?" repeated Murray, flicking his rebellious glasseye, which had a tendency to stare off to one side, "is this a sample ofyour ore? Well, I will say, it looks promising--would you mind if I gointo the tunnel?"

  "Nope," returned Denver; and then, after a moment's pause: "How's thatgun-man of yours getting along?"

  "Oh, Dave? He's all right. I'll ask you over sometime and let you getbetter acquainted."

  "Never mind," answered Denver, "I know him all I want to. And if I catchhim on my ground I'll sure make him jump--I don't like the way he talkedto me."

  "Well, he's rough, but he's good hearted," observed Murray pacifically."I'm sorry he spoke to you that way--shall we go in now and look at thevein?"

  Denver grunted non-committally and led Murray into the tunnel, which hadturned now to follow the ore. Whatever his game was it was too deep forDenver, so he looked on in watchful silence. Murray seemed wellacquainted with mining--he looked at the foot-wall and hanging-wall andtraced out the course of both veins; and then, without offering to takeany samples, he turned and went out to the dump.

  "Yes, very good," he said, but without any enthusiasm, "it certainlylooks very promising. Well, good day, Mr. Russell; much obliged."

  He started down the trail, leaving Denver staring, and then he turnedhurriedly back.

  "Oh, by the way," he said, "I buy and sell ore. When you get enoughsacked you might send it down by McGraw and I'll give you a credit atthe store."

  "Yes, all right," assented Denver and stood looking after him till hecranked up and went roaring away. Not a word about the title, nothingsaid about his warning; and no mention made of his well-known ability tobreak any man in the county. The facts, apparently, were all thatinterested him then--but he might make an offer later. When the vein wasopened up and he had made his first shipment, when it began to look likea mine! Denver went back to work and as he drove in day by day he wascareful to save all the ore.

  He hadn't had it assayed, because assaying is expensive and his supplieshad cost more than he expected, but from the size of the button when hemade his rough fire-tests, he knew that it ran high in silver. Probablyeight hundred ounces, besides the lead; and he had sorted out nearly aton. About the time he was down to his bottom dollar he would ship andget another grub-stake. Then, when that was gone, if his vein opened up,he would ship to the smelter direct; but the first small shipment couldbe easier handled by a man who made it a business. Of course Murraywould gouge him, and overcharge him on everything, but the main idea wasto get Denver to start an account and take that much trade away fromHill. Denver figured it all out and then let it pass, for there wereother things on his mind.

  On the evening of his strike the house below had been silent; but earlythe next morning she had begun again, only this time she was not singingscales. It was grand opera now, in French and Italian; with brilliantruns and trills and high, sustained crescendos that seemed almost todemand applause; and high-pitched, agitato recitatives. She was runningthrough the scores of the standard operas--"La Traviata," "IlTrovatore," "Martha"--but as the week wore along she stopped singingagain and Denver saw her down among the sycamores. She paid no attentionto him, wandering up and down the creek bed or sitting in gloomy silenceby the pools; but at last as he stood at the mouth of his tunnelbreaking ore with the great hammer he loved, she came out on the trailand gazed across at him wistfully, though he feigned not to notice herpresence. He was young and vigorous, and the sledge hammer was his toy;and as Drusilla, when she was practicing, gloried in the range of hervoice and her effortless bravuras and trills, so Denver, swinging hissledge, felt like Thor of old when he broke the rocks with his b
lows.Drusilla gazed at him and sighed and walked pensively past him, thenreturned and came back up his trail.

  "Good evening," she said and Denver greeted her with a smile for he sawthat her mood was friendly. She had resented, at first, his brusquerefusal and his rough, straight-out way of speaking; but she was lonelynow, and he knew in his heart that all was not well with her singing.

  "You like to work, don't you?" she went on at last as he stood sweatingand dumb in her presence, "don't you ever get tired, or anything?"

  "Not doing this," he said, "I'm a driller, you know, and I like to keepmy hand in. I compete in these rock-drilling contests."

  "Oh, yes, father was telling me," she answered quickly. "That's whereyou won all that money--the money to buy the mine."

  "Yes, and I've won other money before," he boasted. "I won first placelast year in the single-handed contest--but that's too hard on your arm.You change about, you know, in the double-handed work--one strikes whilethe other turns--but in single jacking it's just hammer, hammer, hammer,until your arm gets dead to the shoulder."

  "It must be nice," she suggested with a half-concealed sigh, "to be ableto make money so easily. Have you always been a miner?"

  "No, I was raised on a ranch, up in Colorado--but there's lots moremoney in mining. I don't work by the day, I take contracts by the footwhere there's difficult or dangerous work. Sometimes I make fortydollars a day. There's a knack about mining, like everythingelse--you've got to know just how to drive your holes in order to breakthe most ground--but give me a jack-hammer and enough men to muck outafter me and I can sink from sixteen to twenty feet a day, depending onthe rock. But here, of course, I'm working lone-handed and only makeabout three feet a day."

  "Oh," she murmured with a mild show of interest and Denver picked up hishammer. Mother Trigedgo had warned him not to be too friendly, and nowhe was learning why. He set out a huge fragment that had been blastedfrom the face and swung his hammer again.

  "Did you ever hear the 'Anvil Chorus'?" she asked watching himcuriously. "It's in the second act of 'Il Trovatore.'"

  "Sure!" exclaimed Denver, "I heard Sousa's band play it! I've got it ona record somewhere."

  "No, but in a real opera--you'd be fine for that part. They have a rowof anvils around the back of the stage and as the chorus sing the gypsyblacksmiths beat out the time by striking with their hammers. Back inNew York last year there was a perfectly huge man and he had a hammer asbig as yours that he swung with both hands while he sang. You remindedme of him when I saw you working--don't you get kind of lonely,sometimes?"

  "Too busy," replied Denver turning to pick up another rock, "don't havetime for anything like that."

  "Well, I wish I was that way," she sighed after a silence and Denversmote ponderously at the rock.

  "Why don't you work?" he asked at last and Drusilla's eyes flashed fire.

  "I do!" she cried, "I work all the time! But that doesn't do me anygood. It's all right, perhaps, if you're just breaking rocks, or diggingdirt in some mine; but I'm trying to become a singer and you can'tsucceed that way--work will get you only so far!"

  "'S that so!" murmured Denver, and at the unspoken challenge thebrooding resentment of Drusilla burst forth.

  "Yes, it is!" she exclaimed, "and, just because you've struck ore, thatdoesn't prove that you're right in everything. I've worked and I'veworked, and that's all the good it's done me--I'm a failure, in spite ofeverything."

  "Oh, I don't know," responded Denver with a superior smile, "you'vestill got your five hundred dollars. A man is never whipped till hethinks he's whipped--why don't you go back and take a run at it?"

  "Oh, what's the use of talking?" she cried jumping up, "when you don'tknow a thing about it? I've tried and I've tried and the best I couldever do was to get a place in the chorus. And there you simply ruin yourvoice without even getting a chance of recognition. Oh, I get soexasperated to see those Europeans who are nothing but big, spoiledchildren go right into a try-out and take a part away from me that Iknow I can render perfectly. But that's it, you see, they're perfectlyundisciplined, but they can throw themselves into the part; and thedirector just takes my name and address and says he'll call me up if heneeds me."

  Denver grunted and said nothing and as he swung his hammer again theleash to her passions gave way.

  "Yes, and I hate you!" she burst out, "you're so big and self-satisfied.But I guess if you were trying to break into grand opera you wouldn't bequite so intolerant!"

  "No?" commented Denver stopping to shift his grip and she stamped herfoot in fury.

  "No, you wouldn't!" she cried half weeping with rage as she contemplatedthe wreck of her hopes, "don't you know that Mary Garden andSchumann-Heink and Geraldine Farrar and all of them, that are now ourgreatest stars, had to starve and skimp and wait on the impresariosbefore they could get their chance? There's a difference between digginga hole in the ground and moving a great audience to tears; so justbecause you happen to be succeeding right now, don't think that you knowit all!"

  "All right," agreed Denver, "I'll try to remember that. And of courseI'm nothing but a miner. But there's one thing, and I know it, about allthose great stars--they didn't any of them quit. They might have beenhungry and out of a job but they never _quit_, or they wouldn't bewhere they are."

  "Oh, they didn't, eh?" she mocked looking him over with slow scorn. "AndI suppose that _you_ never quit, either?"

  "No, I never did," answered Denver truthfully. "I've never laid downyet."

  "Well, you're young yet," she said mimicking his patronizing tones,"perhaps that will come to you later."

  She smiled with her teeth and stalked off down the trail, leaving Denverwith something to think about.