THE JUMPERS
Saunders, the storekeeper, lay outside the little tent, with the
pungent pine-wood smoke drifting past him and his feet toward the
fire, while dusk crept up the range and a wonderful stillness settled
down upon the lonely valley. His hands were badly blistered, and he
was aching in every limb, while some of his knuckles had the flesh
torn off them, for Devine had brought a heavy hammer down on them
several times that day instead of on the drill. For all that, he lay
beside the fire in the drowsy state of physical content which is not
infrequently experienced by those who have just enjoyed an ample meal
after a long day of strenuous labor in the open air. However, as
Saunders had reasons for believing that the result of the latter would
in due time prove to be eminently satisfactory, the sensation was in
his case perhaps a little more pronounced than usual.
He was not more than healthfully weary, and there was an exhilarating
quality in the sweet, cool air, which was heavy with the smell of the
firs, while the wonderful green transparency generally to be seen
after sunset among the mountains of that land still glimmered behind
the peaks on one side of the valley. The rest of the hollow was
wrapped in creeping shadow against which the nearest pines stood out
in dusky ranks. Saunders raised himself on one elbow and gazed at them
reflectively before he turned to Devine, who was sitting near him.
They had been hard at work on the mineral claims of the Grenfell
Consolidated for the last few days.
"This camping in the woods would be quite nice if one could prowl
round with the rifle instead of pounding the drill," he said, and then
paused to glance ruefully at one of his battered hands. "Anyway, I
don't know that I shouldn't just as soon do that as to hold it."
"Sorry," said Devine. "Still, you've done some shooting. We brought up
a box of cartridges and now we haven't one. What you want is a
single-shot rifle, or a deer that will stand still."
Saunders turned and pointed to the dismembered carcass that hung from
a fir branch close at hand.
"I got that one on the run, and there was a time when I'd have had one
for every ca'tridge, instead of plugging Marlin bullets into trees. It
was a sport I was meant for." He paused and sighed. "I've had to be a
sawmill hand and a storekeeper."
Devine grinned at this.
"Well," he said, "you've raked more money out of pork and sugar than I
have out of surveying. For that matter, you've got most of mine; and
you're better off than I am, because the store's still running."
"Oh, yes," said his companion, with a sardonic smile, "it's being run
by Jim from Okanagan, and he'll have the boys round in the back store
evenings sampling cheese and eating crackers while they help him.
They're kind of curious insects, and it's a blame pity I never
remembered to put those Vancouver invoices where they wouldn't lay
hands on them, for there'll sure be trouble when I get back again. You
have got to strike people for full prices when they don't always meet
their bills. Anyway, the man who spreads himself out on jobs that
don't strictly belong to him is bound to find it cost him something."
It was significant that he spoke of going back; but both he and Devine
admitted that possibility. The mine was theirs, and they certainly
meant to keep it if they could, though they recognized that this might
be difficult. As a matter of fact, a reef or lode mine is of almost as
much immediate use to a poor man as a sewing-machine would be to a
naked savage. He cannot get out the ore without sinking a shaft or
driving an adit, which, in the general way, means the hiring of labor
and the purchase of costly machines. Then, when that is done, he must
put up a stamp-mill and reducing plant, or arrange for transport by
pack-horse to somebody who has one, which is a very expensive matter
in a mountainous land where roads have still to be cut. As the result
of this, he must in the first place go round and beg the assistance of
men with money to spare; and the latter, as a rule, insist on his
handing over the mine before parting with any of their money. There
are also means of putting pressure on the reluctant seller, and the
usual code of morals does not seem to be considered as strictly
applicable to a mining deal.
"Well," said Devine, at length, "we have still a good deal of drilling
to do, and unless you're smarter with the hammer than I am we'll want
new hands before we're through."
"We hold three claims, and that means quite a lot of assessment work
for you and me to put in," Saunders said. "Besides, you'll have to go
down and straighten up things with the Gold Commissioner."
Devine made a sign of concurrence. When he had staked off the claims
with Weston he had been more concerned about tracing the lode than
anything else, and it had not occurred to him that they might be
contested, as it certainly should have done. As the result of this, he
had neglected one or two usual precautions, and when he filed his
record he had not been as exact as was advisable in supplying bearings
that would fix the precise limits of the holdings.
"Yes," he said, "now that I've made a second survey, I'll take the
back trail in a day or two. The stakes are planted just where they
should be, but the description I gave the Commissioner wasn't quite as
precise as I should have made it; and, as the thing stands, I'm not
sure we'd have much to go upon if anybody pulled up our stakes and
swung our claim a little off the lode. Anyway, I don't quite see why
the Commissioner shouldn't pass my survey to count for assessment
work."
The firelight fell on Saunders' face, and he looked thoughtful. Though
the thing is by no means common, claims have been jumped in that
country--that is, occupied by men who surreptitiously or forcibly oust
the rightful owner on the ground that he has not done the work
required by law, or has been inaccurate in his record.
"I guess you'd better go down to-morrow when the boys come up," he
said. "It's a fact that Van Staten went over to Cedar to see the Gold
Commissioner, and from what one of the boys told me he had quite a
long talk with him. Van Staten's straight, but it would be part of his
duty to examine our record and mention it to the people who sent him
up to investigate." He paused and spread out his hands. "I wouldn't
stake my last dollar on the honesty of any of them."
"The boys would start when they got the news you sent them," said
Devine.
Saunders smiled ruefully. He felt reasonably certain that every man in
the settlement would abandon his occupation when he heard the message
they had sent by an Indian they met on the trail soon after they
started. Saunders, it must be admitted, had not sent it until Devine
insisted on his doing so, for, as he shrewdly said, there was not a
great deal of the lode that could be economically worked available,
and he wanted to make quite sure that the Grenfell properties were on
the richest of it, while the boys would be better employed working on
their ranches and buying things from him than worrying over profitless
claims. He added that if the latter broke them he would in all
probability never recover what they owed him.
"They'll be here, sure, bringing as much of my pork and flour as they
can pack along," he said. "It's quite likely Jim won't have raised
thirty dollars among the crowd of them."
"Well," said Devine, "if I'm to take the trail tomorrow I'm going
right under my blanket now."
He rolled it round him and lay down on a pile of spruce twigs outside
the tent. The dew was rather heavy, but he was young and strong, and
it is a luxury to sleep in the open in that elixir-like mountain air.
He went to sleep at once, and it was evidently early morning when
Saunders awakened him, for the moon, which had not cleared the eastern
peaks when he lay down, was now high in the heavens. He sprang to his
feet, and stood a moment or two shivering a little as he looked about
him. It was very cold, and the little open space where the tent stood
was flooded with silvery light, though here and there the shadows of
the firs fell athwart it black as ink and sharp as a fretwork cut in
ebony. Then he saw Saunders close beside him, fumbling with the
magazine of his repeating-rifle.
"Not a blame ca'tridge left! You'd better take the ax along," he said.
"The ax?" queried Devine, who was a little startled as well as
puzzled.
Saunders pointed to the shadowy bush.
"Sure," he said. "It's jumpers!"
That was enough for Devine. He flashed a glance at his companion.
Saunders possessed the huckster's heart, and took pleasure in selling
indifferent pork and third-grade flour at the highest prices he could
possibly extort. The clink of the dollar was music to him; but it was
perfectly clear that he could hold his own, on occasion, with a very
tenacious hand. The man was resolutely quiet and evidently quite ready
to meet the jumpers with an empty rifle.
For the next few moments Devine stood listening with strained
attention. At first he could hear nothing except a little breeze that
sighed among the tops of the firs, but by and by he became sensible of
a stealthy rustling somewhere in the shadows. Then a branch snapped
with a sharp distinctness that set his heart beating a good deal
faster than was comfortable. Making a sign to Saunders, he strode back
to the tent and picked up the ax.
After that they set out together down the little trail that led past
the willows to the lode, slipping as silently as possible through the
shadows, though now and then a stone clinked beneath their feet, or a
stick or twig snapped as they passed, with a sound that seemed
startlingly loud. Nobody, however, seemed to hear them, and at last
they sank down amidst a brake of tall fern near a little,
neatly-squared stake which had been driven into the soil. The brake
was in black shadow, but a broad patch of moonlight fell on the green
carpet of wineberries a yard or two away. The rustling had ceased, and
they could hear nothing for several anxious minutes; then it commenced
again. A man floundering through that kind of bush makes considerable
noise, even when it is daylight and he can see where he is going. Then
one of the jumpers, who apparently had fallen into a clump of thorns,
broke out into half-smothered expletives, and there was a soft laugh,
evidently from a comrade.
"Looking for the stake," said Saunders with a rather grim chuckle.
"They mean to put the work through before they come round to call on
us. As far as I can figure, there can't be more than four of them."
That appeared to Devine quite enough, but he recognized the necessity
for a determined opposition. He knew that he had framed his record
before the Gold Commissioner, and that it would not be difficult for
the men who pulled up that stake to swing his claim a little off the
richest of the lead. This would give them an opportunity for staking
off a good deal of the strip he meant to hold, and once they took
possession it would be a case of proving them wrong; and when it came
to testimony, they were two to one. He felt sincerely sorry that
Saunders had not sent the boys word of his discovery a little earlier.
In the meanwhile the rustling had ceased once more, and Devine felt
the silence react upon his nerves. What the strangers were doing he
could not tell, but he fancied that they must be consulting together
somewhere among the trees. He felt that it would be a vast relief if
he could only see them; and he glanced around at Saunders. The latter
crouched among the dewy fern, impassively still, a blurred, shadowy
object, with the rifle across his knees.
Then the crackling of undergrowth commenced again, and Devine fancied
that he could distinguish the movements of four men. He heard the fern
rustle close behind him, and saw that his companion had raised himself
a trifle. The latter appeared to be gazing into the bush, and looking
around sharply the surveyor started as a figure materialized out of
the gloom where the moonlight streamed down between the trees not far
away. The man stood amidst the silvery radiance, and Devine was
relieved to notice that he had nothing in his hand. Then he turned
partly around, and his voice reached the pair who watched him.
"Have you struck it yet?" he asked.
An invisible man replied that he had not yet found whatever he was
searching for; and in another moment a sharp snapping suggested that a
third stranger was floundering through the bush. He came into sight
close by the first and stopped.
"I can't strike that post," he said. "The bush down that way is black
as pitch. Guess I'll have to look for a pine-knot and get a light."
"They'd hear you chopping," said the man who had appeared first. "The
tent's just back there among the firs. We have got to have that post
shifted before they know we are about."
There was no doubt as to who it was that he referred to, and Devine
saw Saunders hitch himself forward a little.
"If I'd only three or four ca'tridges!" he said half aloud.
Devine sympathized with him. His comrade was a very indifferent shot,
but it would have been a relief to feel that they had something
besides the ax to fall back on as a last resort. Firearms, as he was
aware, are seldom made use of in a dispute in British Columbia, but,
for all that, men have now and then been rather badly injured during
an altercation over a mineral claim. At close quarters a shovel or a
big hammer is apt to prove an effective weapon.
Then, and neither was afterward quite sure how it happened, Saunders
lost his balance and fell forward amidst the fern. He did not do it
noiselessly, and one of the two jumpers sprang backward a pace.
"Somebody in that clump of fern," he said, and then apparently
recovered a little from his alarm. "It's that blame fool Charley."
There was no longer any possibility of concealment, and Saunders
suddenly stood up in the moonlight which had crept close up to the
brake, a tall, gaunt figure with the rifle glinting at his hip.
"It's not," he said laconically. "It's going to be a funeral unless
you light out of this."
The men did not stop to consider, but vanished on the instant, and
Devine, breaking into a little laugh from sheer relief, fancied that
they had jumped behind adjacent trees. Saunders, who stood gazing into
the shadows, waved his hand.
"You'll stop right where you are, boys, if you're wise," he said.
"There'll sure be trouble if you come out again."
The men did not come out, but there was a smashing of undergrowth as
two more came running up. They were visible for a moment as they
sprang out into the open space between the willows and the first of
the firs, and then apparently they saw Saunders, for they plunged back
among the trees. The storekeeper sank down behind the fern.
"It's quite a good light, and one of them might have a pistol," he
explained half aloud.
Devine considered this very probable; and when there was no sign of
their opponents during the next few minutes he once more became
conscious that his heart was beating unpleasantly fast. The jumpers
apparently had vanished altogether, but he fancied that they were
considering some plan of attack. By and by, a voice came out of the
shadows.
"There's the post close up against the fern," it said.
"That," remarked Saunders, dryly, "is going to put a hustle on to some
of them."
He was right, for a moment later a man stepped out into the moonlight.
"Put down your gun. We want to talk," he said.
"Then," replied Saunders, who did not stand up, "go ahead; but you'll
stop in the light; and if you feel like sending any of your partners
to work a traverse round this bunch of fern, you can remember that
I've got the forehead plumb on--you."
The man's gesture indicated that he understood the situation, and,
though he had jumped for cover a little earlier, as most men in his
place would have done, it was evident that he was a courageous rogue.
"I want to tell you that there are four of us, and we've come up quite
a way to shift that post for you," he said. "There's no use making
trouble, for it has to be done."
Saunders touched his companion's shoulder.
"Chip in," he said softly. "Talk like a land agent trying to sell a
ranch. We've got to keep this crowd quiet. The boys can't be far off."
Devine agreed with his last statement. The moonlight was bright enough
for one to travel by, at least in the brûlée, and he was sufficiently
acquainted with western human nature to feel certain that every man in
the settlement would have started when he heard of their discovery,
and, what was more to the purpose, would not waste a moment on the
journey. Men going up to a new gold strike do not, as a rule, trouble
themselves about want of sleep or weariness. On the other hand, he did
not think they could possibly arrive before morning, which meant that
he must keep the jumpers talking for several hours. It appeared very
doubtful whether their patience or his conversational powers would
hold out, but he meant to do what he could.
"I'm not quite as sure that you're going to move that post as you seem
to be; and, anyway, I don't quite see why you want to do it," he said.
"You can't take possession of a duly recorded claim."
The jumper laughed.
"Your record won't hold. You should have made it clearer; given
two-point bearings, or blazed your line on trees."
"Why?" asked Devine. "This post fixes the key boundary."
"Trouble is that we're going to move that post," said the other man.
He did not appear impatient, and Devine deduced two things from the
fact that he was willing to discuss the matter. One was that the
jumper, who evidently had not met the Indian, was unaware that the men
from the settlement were then in all probability pushing on as fast as
possible through the brûlée, and the other that the man had no desire
to proceed to extremities. This was reassuring as far as it went, but
it must be admitted that the surveyor was afterward a little
astonished at his collectedness and perspicacity.
"Why don't you want to move all the posts?" he asked.
"We couldn't square that with your record," was the candid answer.
"Moving one will swing you across instead of along the lead, and will
let in our new location. I'm telling you this, because you'll probably
be reasonable now that you understand the thing. Light out and don't
make trouble, and you'll still hold quite a strip on the lead."
"Give us a minute or two to think it over," said Devine.
"In the meanwhile you'll stop just where you are," Saunders broke in.
The man waved his hand as though he conceded that point, and Devine
turned to his companion.
"I've only one excuse to make. When I staked off the claims, I was in
a feverish hurry to prove the lead and get down and record," he said.
"Now, that's not an educated man, but he's got the hang of this thing
as clearly as a surveyor could have done. It's evident that the man
who hired him has drilled it into him, and, what is more, has warned
him that he's to make no unnecessary trouble. We're to be bounced out
of rather more than half our claim, but it's to be done as quietly as
possible. He explained the matter in the expectation that we'd pull
out and leave the field to them."
"You've hit it," said Saunders. "Don't answer. Let him speak again.
We've got to gain time."
They waited several minutes in tense anxiety, for, after all, it was
conceivable that, diplomacy failing, the jumper would adopt more
forcible means. Then the man waved his hand.
"You've got to decide what you're going to do," he said.
Devine proceeded to urge every reason he could think of, and held him
in play a little longer, until finally the jumper lost his patience.
"Oh," he said, "you make me tired! Light out and be done with it!
We're going to pull up that post."
Saunders thrust forward the rifle barrel so that the moonlight
sparkled on it.
"Then," he said grimly, "come right along and shift it."
Instead of doing so, the man jumped back into the shadow, which was
perhaps a very natural proceeding. Then there was oppressive silence
for a few minutes. Devine, who could not hear anything, felt horribly
anxious as to what their opponents might be doing. Suddenly there was
a fresh rustling among the undergrowth, and Saunders thrust the rifle
into his companion's hands.
"Crawling in at the back of us! Let them see you on the opposite
side!" he said.
Devine wriggled through the fern, and, though he knew that this was
rash, stood up where the moonlight fell upon him, with the long barrel
glinting in front of him. He fancied, though he could not be certain,
that he saw a shadowy figure flit back among the trees, and in any
case the rustling died away again. After that he crawled back to
Saunders, for, as he admitted afterward, he did not like standing on
the other side of that thicket alone.
He subsequently repeated the maneuver several times, and Saunders once
or twice answered the jumpers' warnings with a sardonic invitation to
remove the post. Neither of them afterward was sure how long the
horrible tension lasted, though they agreed that a very little more of
it would probably have broken down their nerve; but at length a faint
sound came out of the shadows down the valley. It rapidly grew louder,
and when it resolved itself into such a smashing of undergrowth as
might have been made by a body of men, Saunders sprang up and waved
his rifle toward where he supposed the jumpers to be.
"You'd better git," he said. "The boys from the settlement will head
you off inside five minutes."
There was no answer, and it appeared that the jumpers had already
departed as silently as possible. A little later the men from the
settlement came limping in, and the foremost of them clustered round
Devine, who sat just outside the fern, while Saunders, whose face
showed a trifle drawn in the moonlight, stood still clutching the
rifle.
"What's the matter? You're not looking pert, the pair of you," said
one of them.
"Give me a cigar, if you've got one," said Devine. "Saunders will tell
you about the thing. I've done quite enough talking for one night."
Saunders told the story tersely, and afterward snapped the magazine of
his rifle up and down with a dramatic gesture.
"Held them off with that, and not a blame ca'tridge in the thing," he
said.