THE MAGIC BAND OF BEATEN GOLD
The demonetization of silver by the government in 1873, and its great
production, had reduced the value of the white metal one-half, so young
Harris resolved to seek for gold, and began a search, which proved to be
a most romantic success.
At first he hesitated to leave Montana, as its quartz veins and sluice
boxes in twenty-five years had poured out $400,000,000, and its mineral
resources were yet almost wholly unknown. The area of this single
mountainous state could not be blanketed by the six New England States,
and New York, or covered by England, Wales, Ireland, and Scotland
combined.
Finally Alfonso determined to follow the great mineral belt in a
southwesterly direction even to the Sierra Nevada Range if need be. At
Livingston he went south by railway through a gateway of the mountains,
and up the fertile Paradise Valley, following the cool green waters of
the Yellowstone alive with trout and equally gamesome graylings.
At Cinnabar Alfonso joined a merry party of tourists, who mounted a
Concord coach, and the four grays were urged to a brisk pace over a
smooth government road towards the great National Park. How exhilarating
this six miles' ride, and how imposing the scenery, as the coach enters
this Geologist's Paradise!
The Yellowstone or National Park contains 2,288,000 acres, and is fifty
times the size of France's greatest park at Fontainebleau. Its altitude
is a half mile higher than the summit of Mt. Washington, and the whole
park is encircled by snow-clad peaks and majestic domes from three to
five thousand feet high. This reservation by Congress in 1872, of 3575
square miles of public domain in perpetuity for the pleasure of the
people, was a most creditable act.
Alfonso found that the park abounded in wild gorges, grand canyons,
dancing cascades, majestic falls and mountains, picturesque lakes,
curious hot springs, and awe-inspiring geysers. He and his party pushed
through the Golden Gate, marveled at the wonders of the Norris and
Firehole Basins, stood entranced before the mighty Canyon then bathed in
the transparent Yellowstone Lake, and by nine o'clock were lulled to
sleep in the shade of fragrant pines.
After breakfast next morning, while Alfonso and the hotel guests sat on
the porch, a retired army captain, who had served in the Seventh U.S.
Cavalry, said he wished a party could be organized to visit General
Custer's monument east of the National Park on the Little Big Horn River.
There the Government had marked the historic battleground, where on the
morning of the 24th of June, 1876, two hundred of the famous Seventh
Cavalry and their brave leader, were overwhelmed and slaughtered by 2,500
Indians under the famous chief, Sitting Bull. Custer was tall and
slender, with blue eyes and long light hair. He had fought at Bull Run
and Gettysburg, and was present at Lee's surrender at Appomattox. He was
promoted to brigadier general when he was twenty-three years old, and
became major general when he was twenty-five. Eleven horses were shot
under him. Once he saved the flag by tearing it from its staff and
concealing it in his bosom. What Napoleon said of Ney is also true of
Custer, "He was the bravest of the brave."
The recital of Custer's deeds nerved Alfonso to renewed efforts to win
Christine's hand. He declined with thanks to join the captain's excursion
party, and early next day rode south into the upper basin of the Park,
which contains over 400 springs and geysers; many of the springs in their
peculiar shapes, translucent waters, and variety and richness of color,
are of exquisite beauty. Alfonso visited emerald and sapphire springs,
where it is said nymphs, elfs, and fairies came to bathe, and don their
dainty dress of flowers and jewelled dew drops.
Many bronzed tourists had assembled, and their faces showed amazement as
they watched giant geysers in action. Suddenly the solid earth is
tremulous with rumbling vibrations, like those that herald earthquakes.
Frightful gurgling sounds are audible in the geyser's throat. Sputtering
steam is visible above the cone, the water below boils like a cauldron,
and scalding hot, the eruption becomes terribly violent, belching forth
clouds of smoke-like steam, and hurling rocks into the air as though
a mortar of some feudal stronghold had been discharged. The stupendous
column of hot water is veiled in spray as it mounts towards heaven.
Boiling water is flowing in brooks to the Firehole River, which is soon
swollen to a foaming torrent washing away the bridges below. The valley
is filled with dense vapors, and the air is laden with sulphurous fumes,
while the hoarse rumblings and subterranean tremors chill the heart.
Beneath your feet are positive evidences of eternal fires, and all about
you the might of God. Alfonso was glad to leave this region of the
supernatural.
He hastened across the Snake River, which winds through Idaho, and pushed
on towards the Teton Range, one of many that form the Rocky Mts. In sight
are snow-touched sentinel peaks kissed by earliest and latest sun. The
Rocky Mts. or Great Continental Divide is a continuation of the famous
Andes of South America, and jointly they form the longest and most
uniform chain of mountains on the globe. Amid the gorges of this system
of mountains, over 3000 miles in length, America's largest rivers have
their birth, and find their outlet into the Atlantic, Arctic, and Pacific
Oceans.
These mountains are vast vaults that will hold in trust for centuries to
come untold supplies of precious metal for the American nations. This
general fact did not concern Alfonso. He was ambitious to unlock for his
own use only a single box of the huge vault. He was familiar with the
wonderful story of Mackay, Fair, Flood, and O'Brien, Kings of the
Comstock Lode, and owners of the Big Bonanza, who paid their 600 miners
five dollars per day in gold, for eight hours' labor a third of a mile
below the earth's surface. The Comstock Lode yielded over $5,000,000 per
month, or a total output of silver and gold of over $250,000,000.
For six long weary months Alfonso and his companion searched for gold
down the Green River and along the river bottom of the Grand Canyon of
the Colorado, till they reached the Needles on the A. & P. Railway.
Thence they rode west to Kern River. This stream they followed on
horseback into the Sierra Nevada Mountains, all the time searching for
precious metals, especially gold. The mountains were crossed over to
Owen's Lake, and a river traced north. Alfonso was prospecting in new
fields, but his search thus far was fruitless. His companion sickened and
died, but Alfonso bravely climbed among the mountains hoping to cross the
crest and reach the cabins of friendly government officials on duty in
the park of the big trees in Mariposa County.
It was late in the fall, grasses and leaves had browned, Alfonso's horse
had grown thin, and being too weak and lame to go forward, finally died.
His provisions had given out; his own strength and courage had failed; he
needed water for his parched tongue and lips, but none was at hand; fever
quickened his pulse. Sitting alone in the shadow of a giant boulder that
afforded partial protection from the gathering storm, his mind reverted
to his home at Harrisville where abundance could be had, to his family
that thought him dead, and to Christine across the sea, whom he had
vowed to win with gold. All seemed lost. Alfonso's head reeled, he fell
back upon the ground, and the early snows seemed to form for him a
shroud.
Good fortune guided this way a party of Yosemite Indians, who were
returning from an extended hunt for deer and elk. They had also slain a
few bears and a couple of mountain lions. The dead horse first arrested
their attention, and then the exhausted miner was found asleep covered
with snow. The Indians wrapped the sick man at once in a grizzly bear
skin, fastened him to a pony, and carried him to their camp near the big
trees. It was morning before Alfonso was conscious of his surroundings.
Standing by him was a shy Indian maiden with a dish of hot soup. His bed,
he discovered was in a burned-out cavity of one of the big trees. Near by
were several tepees, the tops of which emitted smoke. Straight,
black-haired Indians in bright blankets moved slowly from tent to tent.
Alfonso scarcely conscious had strange dreams. Sometimes he thought he
was in the Hodoo Region, or Goblin Land, the abode of evil spirits, where
he saw every kind of fantastic beast, bird, and reptile, and no end of
spectral shapes in the winding passages of a weird labyrinth on a far-off
island. Then his dreams were of rare beauty. Green foliage was changed to
pure white, the trees became laden with sparkling crystals, roadways and
streams were laid in shining silver, and geyser-craters enlarged in
strange forms resembled huge white thrones in gorgeous judgment halls.
Such fleeting beauty suggested to Alfonso's feverish brain the
supernatural, the abode perhaps of spirit beings. For days the medicine
man and Mariposa, daughter of the Indian chief, watched and cared for
Alfonso, whose life hovered over the grave.
Mariposa, Spanish for butterfly, was a fit name for the pretty Indian
maiden. She paid great deference not only to her tall father, Red Cloud,
but to the pale faces whenever in their presence. For four years
Mariposa, unusually bright, attended the Indian school at Carlisle, Pa.;
when she returned to her wild home in the forest she was able to speak
and read the language of the pale face, and beside she loved history and
poetry.
One day, Alfonso's health having slowly improved, Mariposa put in his
hands a small pine cone, the size of a hen's egg, and said, "Three years
go by from the budding to the ripening of the seed of the sequoias, or
big trees."
Alfonso did not know, till Mariposa told him that the big trees were
called sequoia in honor of a Cherokee chief, Sequoyah, who invented
letters for his people. She also told Alfonso that there were at least
ten groves of big trees on the northern slope of the Sierra Nevada range;
that some of the trees were thirty feet in diameter, and 325 feet in
height; that sixteen Yosemite braves on their ponies had taken refuge
from a terrible storm in the hollow of a single sequoia. Alfonso prized
highly a cane, fashioned by the Indian maiden from a fallen Big Tree. The
wood had a pale red tint, and was beautifully marked and polished.
Part of the Indian hunting party went forward with the game, while
Mariposa, Red Cloud, and three Yosemite braves with their ponies, waited
for the handsome pale face to recover partially. Then they rode with
Alfonso among the Big Trees, past Wawona, toiling up long valleys,
stopping now and then to cook simple food. The Indians followed a
familiar trail up dark gulches, along steep grades, through heavy timber,
skirting edges of cliffs and precipitous mountains, the ruggedness
constantly increasing, till suddenly Mariposa conducted Alfonso to a high
point where his soul was filled with enthusiasm. Mariposa, pointing to
the gorge or canyon of extraordinary depth, which was floored with forest
trees and adorned with waterfalls, said, "Here in the Yosemite (grizzly)
Valley is the home of my people. Here we wish to take you until you are
well. Will you go?"
Alfonso, still weak and pale, but trusting the Indian girl, replied
"Yes." The young artist-miner had never seen such stupendous masonry; the
granite walls that surrounded the valley were a succession of peaks and
domes, from three thousand to four thousand feet high, all eloquent in
thought and design. Alfonso began sketching, but Mariposa motioned him
to put his paper aside, and the six Indian ponies with their burdens
carefully picked their way into the paradise below.
Red Cloud, Mariposa, Alfonso, and the braves were received with
expressions of joy unusual for the stolid red men, and Alfonso was given
a tent to himself near the chief's big tepee, close by a broad clear
stream, and in the shadow of large old oaks. Here for several days
Alfonso tarried, grew stronger, and often walked with pretty Mariposa.
She taught him a novel method of trapping trout which thronged the river.
She had him sketch the reflection in Mirror Lake of cathedral spires and
domes, of overhanging granite rocks, and tall peaks of wildest grandeur.
He also sketched several waterfalls fed by melting snow. Mariposa's
favorite falls at the entrance to the valley made a single leap of
hundreds of feet, and when the white spray was caught by the breezes and
the sun, the lace-like mist, sparkling like diamonds, swayed gracefully
in the winds like a royal bridal veil. "The highest of a series of
cascades," Mariposa said, "was called 'The Yosemite Falls.'"
Here eagles soar above the Cap of Liberty and other granite peaks.
Robins, larks, and humming birds swarm in the warm valley, and abundance
of grass grows in the meadows for the Indian ponies.
As Alfonso's strength increased, he walked more frequently with Mariposa
along the banks of the river, by the thickets of young spruce, cedar, and
manzanita with its oddly contorted red stems. At times, each vied with
the other in bringing back echoes from the lofty granite walls of the
valley.
One sunset, as Alfonso and Mariposa sat by the river bank, Alfonso
holding the light redwood cane, the gift of the maiden, he took the
shapely hand of Mariposa in his own and said, "Mariposa, I owe my life to
you, and if I am ever rich I will come back and reward you."
"I shall miss you," said the maiden shyly, "I want no money; I am happy
because you are well again."
"Mariposa, I have long searched for gold," said Alfonso, "but finally
I lost courage, became sick, and you know the rest. You have a ring of
beaten gold on your finger, did it come from near here?"
"My father gave it to me," was all that Mariposa would say about the ring
as they separated for the night.
It was past midnight when Alfonso felt someone pulling at his shoulder.
There in the moonlight stood Mariposa beckoning him to come. Quickly
dressing, Alfonso left his tent without speaking as the maiden put her
fingers to her lips, and quietly following Mariposa they walked by the
silver stream into a wild gorge. Graceful pines afforded cover for
Mariposa and Alfonso, as swift of foot, they scaled high cliffs, till the
Indian girl held aloft her hand, and above in a cleft of white quartz the
yellow gold shone brightly in the moon's rays.
When the time came for Alfonso to leave the Yosemite Valley, one of
nature's masterpieces, tears filled the eyes of lovely Mariposa. He
earnestly thanked Red Cloud and his daughter, and, saying good-bye,
mounted his pony, a gift from Mariposa, when the girl ran to him and
whispered, "Here, Alfonso, is the ring; bring it back to me when you are
rich, but you will forget Mariposa."
"No! no!" replied Alfonso, "I will bring back the ring, and you shall
give it to the one who makes you his bride." Then the Indian girl turned
her face toward the Bridal Veil Falls, and Alfonso rode sadly out of the
valley.
After several years, still wearing the magic band of beaten gold, having
developed the Mariposa Gold Mines into property worth millions, Alfonso
left the far west to seek beautiful Christine.