CHAPTER XIV
THE STRIKE
Denver Russell _was_ young, in more ways than one, but that did notprove he was wrong. Perhaps he was presumptuous in trying to tell anartist how to gain a foothold on the stage, but he was still convincedthat, in grand opera as in mining, there was no big demand for aquitter. As for that swift, back stab, that veiled intimation that hemight live to be a quitter himself, Denver resolved then and there notto quit working his mine until his last dollar was gone. And, while hewas doing that, he wondered if Drusilla could boast as much of hermusic. Would she weaken again, as she had twice already, and declarethat she was a miserable failure; or would she toil on, as he did, dayby day, refusing to acknowledge she was whipped?
Denver returned to his cave in a defiant mood and put on a record bySchumann-Heink. There was one woman that he knew had fought her waythrough everything until she had obtained a great success. He had readin a magazine how she had been turned away by a director who had toldher her voice was hopeless; and how later, after years of privation andsuffering, she had come back to that same director and he had beenforced to acknowledge her genius. And it was all there, in her voice,the sure strength that comes from striving, the sweetness that comesfrom suffering; and as Denver listened to her "Cradle Song" heremembered what he had read about her children. Every night, in thosedark times when, deserted and alone, she sang in the chorus for herbread, she had been compelled for lack of a nursemaid to lock herchildren in her room; and evening after evening her mother's heart wastormented by fears for their safety. What if the house should burn downand destroy them all? All the fear and love, all the anguishedtenderness which had torn her heart through those years was written onthe stippled disc, so deeply had it touched her life.
Denver put them all on, the best records he had by singers of worldrenown, and then at the end he put on the "Barcarolle," the duet fromthe "Love Tales of Hoffmann." For him, that was Drusilla's song, theexpression of her gayest, happiest self. Its lilt and flow recalled herto his thoughts like the embroidered motifs that Wagner used toanticipate the coming of his characters. It was a light song, in a way,not the greatest of music; but while she was singing it he had seen herfor the first time and it had become the motif of her coming. When heheard it he saw a vision of a beautiful young girl, singing and swayinglike a slender flower; and all about her was a golden radiance like thehalo of St. Cecelia. And to him it was a prophecy of her ultimatesuccess, for when she sung it she had won his heart. So he played itover and over, but when he had finished there was silence from the oldtown below.
Yet if Drusilla was silent it was not from despair for in the morning asDenver was mucking out his tunnel he heard her clear voice mount up likethe light of some bird.
"Ah, _Ah-h-h-h_, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah."
It was the old familiar exercise, rising an octave at the first boundand then fluttering down like some gorgeous butterfly of sound till itrested on the octave below. And at each renewed flight it began a notehigher until it climbed at last to high C. Then it ran up in rouladesand galloping bravuras, it trilled and sought out new flights; yetalways with the pellucid tones of the flute, the sweet, virginal purityof a child. She was right--there was something missing, a somethingwhich she groped for and could not find, a something which the othersingers had. Denver sensed the lack dimly but he could not define it,all he knew was that she left out herself. In the brief glimpse he hadof her she had seemed torn by dark passions, which caused her at timesto brood among the sycamores and again to seek a quarrel with him; yetall this youthful turbulence was left out of her singing--she had notlearned to express her emotions.
Denver listened every morning as he came out of his dark hole, pushingthe wheel-barrows of ore and waste before him, and then he bade farewellto sun, air and music and went into the close, dark tunnel. By the lightof a single candle, thrust into its dagger-like miner's candlestick andstabbed into some seam in the wall, he smashed and clacked away at hisdrill until the whole face was honeycombed with holes. At the top theyslanted up, at the bottom down, to keep the bore broken clean; but alongthe sides and in the middle they followed no system, more than to adaptthemselves to the formation. When his round of holes was drilled he cuthis fuse and loaded each hole with its charge; after which with firmhands he ignited each split end and hurried out of the tunnel. There hesat down on a rock and listened to the shots; first the short holes inthe center, to blow out the crown; then the side holes, breaking intothe opening; and the top-holes, shooting the rock down from above; andthen, last and most powerful, the deep bottom holes that threw the dirtback down the tunnel and left the face clear for more work.
As the poisonous smoke was drifting slowly out of the tunnel mouthDenver fired up his forge and re-sharpened his drills; and then, alongtowards evening, when the fumes had become diffused, he went in to seewhat he had uncovered. Sometimes the vein widened or developed richlenses, and sometimes it pinched down until the walls enclosed nothingbut a narrow streak of talc; but always it dipped down, and that was agood sign, a prophecy of the true fissure vein to come. The ore that hemined now was a mere excrescence of the great ore-body he hoped to find,but each day the blanket-vein turned and dipped on itself until at lastit folded over and led down. In a huge mass of rocks, stuck together bycrystals of silica and stained by the action of acids, the silver andcopper came together and intermingled at the fissure vent which hadproduced them both. Denver stared at it through the powder smoke, thenhe grabbed up some samples and went to see Bunker Hill.
Not since that great day when Denver had struck the copper had Bunkershown any interest in the mine. He sat around the house listening toDrusilla while she practiced and opening the store for chance customers;but towards Denver he still maintained a grim-mouthed reserve, as ifdiscouraging him from asking any favors. Perhaps the fact that Denver'smoney was all gone had a more or less direct bearing on the case; butthough he was living on the last of his provisions Denver had refrainedfrom asking for credit. His last shipment of powder and blacksmith'scoal had cost twenty per cent more than he had figured and he had sentfor a few more records; and after paying the two bills there was onlysome small change left in the wallet which had once bulged withgreenbacks. But his pride was involved, for he had read Drusilla alecture on the evils of being faint-hearted, so he had simply stoppedbuying at the little store and lived on what he had left. But now--well,with that fissure vein opened up and a solid body of ore in sight, hemight reasonably demand the customary accommodations which all merchantsaccord to good customers.
"Well, I've struck it," he said when he had Bunker in the store, "justtake a look at _that_!"
He handed over a specimen that was heavy with copper and Bunker squinteddown his eyes.
"Yes, looks good," he observed and handed it somberly back.
"I've got four feet of it," announced Denver gloating over thespecimens, "and the vein has turned and gone down. What's the chancesfor some grub now, on account? I'm going to ship that sacked ore."
"Danged poor--with me," answered Bunker with decision. "You'd better tryyour luck with Murray."
"Oh, boosting for Murray, eh?" remarked Denver sarcastically. "Well, Imay take you up on that, but it's too far to walk now and I've beenliving on beans for a week. I guess I'm good for a few dollars' worth."
"Sure you're good for it," agreed Bunker, "but that ain't the point. Thequestion is--when will I get my money?"
"You'll get it, by grab, as soon as I do," returned Denver withconsiderable heat. "What's the matter? Ain't that ore shipment goodenough security?"
"Well, maybe it is," conceded Bunker, "but you'll have a long wait foryour money. And to tell you the truth, the way I'm fixed now, I can'tsell except for cash."
"Oh! Cash, eh?" sneered Denver suddenly bristling with resentment. "Itseems like I've heard that before. In fact, every time that I ask youfor a favor you turn me down like a bum. I came through here, one time,so danged weak I could hardly crawl and you refused to even give me ame
al; and now, when I've got a mine that's worth millions, you've stillgot your hand out for the money."
"Well, now don't get excited," spoke up Bunker pacifically, "you canhave what grub you want. But I'm telling you the truth--those peopledown below won't give me another dollar's worth on tick. These are hardtimes, boy, the hardest I've ever seen, and if you'd offer me that mineback for five hundred cents I couldn't raise the money. That shows howbroke I am, and I've got a family to support."
"Well, that's different," said Denver. "If you're broke, that settlesit. But I'll tell you one thing, old-timer, you won't be broke long. I'mgoing to open up a mine here that will beat the Lost Burro. I've gotcopper, and that beats 'em all."
"Sure does," agreed Bunker, "but it's no good for shipping ore. It takesmillions to open up a copper property."
"Yes, and it brings back millions!" boasted Denver with a swagger. "I'mmade, if I can only hold onto it. But I'll tell you right now, if youwant to hold your claims you'd better do a little assessment work.There's going to be a rush, when this strike of mine gets out, that'llmake your ground worth millions."
Old Bunk smiled indulgently and took a chew of tobacco and Denver cameback to earth.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," proposed Denver after a silence, "I'lltake a contract to do your assessment work for ten dollars a claim, intrade. I'll make an open cut that's four by six by ten, and that's heldto be legal work anywhere. Come on now, I'm tired of beans."
"Well, come down to supper," replied Bunker at last, "and we'll talk itover there."
"No, I don't want any supper," returned Denver resentfully, "you've gotenough hoboes to feed. You can give me an answer, right now."
"All right--I won't do it," replied Bunker promptly and turned to go outthe door; but it had opened behind them and Drusilla stood theresmiling, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
"What are you two men quarreling about?" she demanded reprovingly, "wecould hear you clear over to the house."
"Well, I asked him over to supper," began Bunker in a rage, "and----"
"That's got nothing to do with it," broke in Denver hotly, "I'm makinghim a business proposition. But he's so danged bull-headed he'd ratherkill some jumper than comply with the law as it stands. He's beenholding down these claims with a lead-pencil and a six-shooter justabout as long as he can and----"
"Oh, have you made another strike?" asked Drusilla eagerly and when sheheard the news she turned to her father with a sudden note of gladnessin her voice. "Then you'll have to do the work," she said, "because I'llnever be happy till you do. Ever since you sold your claim I've beensorry for my selfishness but now I'm going to pay you back. I'm going totake my five hundred dollars and hire this assessment work done andthen----"
"It won't cost any five hundred," put in Denver hastily. "I'm kindershort, right now, and I offered to do it for ten dollars a claim, intrade."
"Ten dollars? Why, how can you do it for that? I thought the lawrequired a ten foot hole, or the same amount of work in a tunnel."
"Or an open cut," hinted Denver. "Leave it to me--I can do it and makemoney, to boot."
"Well, you're hired, then!" cried Drusilla with a rush of enthusiasm,"but you have to go to work to-morrow."
"Well--ll," qualified Denver, "I wanted to look over my strike andfinish sacking that ore. Wouldn't the next day do just as well?"
"No, it wouldn't," she replied. "You can give me an answer, right now."
"Well, I'll go you!" said Denver and Old Bunker grunted and regardedthem with a wry, knowing smile.
Silver and Gold: A Story of Luck and Love in a Western Mining Camp Page 14
