UNEXPECTED COMPANY
The next morning everybody at the Headquarters of the Never-Give-Up
California Mining Company was up an hour before the sun flashed its
golden light over the tops of the eastern mountains and down on the log
cabins and tents of Hangtown. All the workers in the mining-camps went
to bed early, tired out with their hard day's work with pick and shovel,
slept soundly, and arose early the next morning to begin another day of
toil. Only the drones--the gamblers, the saloon-keepers, and their
foolish patrons--burned the midnight oil, or, rather in this case, the
midnight candle, for there was little oil to burn in these camps. Hence
it was that when Thure and Bud hurried out of the house to wash their
hands and faces in a near-by spring, they saw that they were far from
being the only early risers, that the smoke was rising from the chimneys
of nearly every log cabin in sight and that in front of nearly every
tent glowed a camp-fire, around which the cooks already could be seen
preparing breakfast.
"Well, this is great!" declared Bud, as he dashed the cool, refreshing
water over his face. "I feel like a new man already. There must be
something in this mountain air that gets into the blood and puts new
life into a fellow. Say, but isn't this a beautiful sight, like--like a
picture painted by a great artist!" and his eyes swept over the
surrounding scene, now just becoming visible through the light of the
early dawn.
"You are right, it is a beautiful scene," and Thure stood up and allowed
his eyes to drink in, with all the enthusiasm of youth, the beauties of
the scene; "but, I reckon, there is no artist that can paint a picture
the equal of that," and he pointed to the distant tops of the eastern
mountains. "It takes the brush of God to paint that kind of pictures!"
And Thure was right. No artist's skill could transfer to canvas the full
glories of such a scene as now delighted the eyes of Thure and Bud.
The first rays of the morning's sun flamed upon the snow-covered tops of
the mountains towering high above their heads to the eastward, while the
mountainsides and valleys were still dark with the shadows of night; and
everywhere the flaming light of morning struck the crystal-white of the
snow on mountain top and pinnacle, that peak was crowned with a glorious
halo that glowed, first with grayish violet lights, swiftly changing to
crimson and rose, and from rose to gold, until, suddenly, the whole peak
blazed forth in the glorious light of the full-risen sun. A vision for
an artist to rhapsodize over; but for a God to paint!
"Bre'kfust! First an' last call tew bre'kfust!" yelled Ham from the open
door of the house, just as the sun burst over the tops of the mountains.
"I feel as if I had just been to church," Thure said reverently, as the
two boys started back to the house.
"So do I," agreed Bud. "Only no church or priest ever seem to bring God
as close to a fellow as such a scene as that does. I don't see how
anybody can live in the mountains and not believe in God."
As soon as breakfast was eaten, Mr. Conroyal arose.
"Now," he said, "that we have all had a night in which to think over the
tale of the dead miner we had better get together and decide on what we
had best do; and, as Dill suggested last night, we will first talk it
over in an informal way. Now, what do you think about the truth of the
miner's yarn? That, of course, is the first thing to settle; for there
is no need of bothering with the matter at all, unless we feel quite
sure that the miner really found a cave something like the one he
described to Thure and Bud."
"Well, considering all things," and Frank Holt took the pipe he had lit
and was puffing on out of his mouth and laid it down on the table, "and
more especially considering the fact, that, when I saw him in Coleman's,
he appeared to have just got in from a long prospecting spell in the
mountains and to have plenty of gold along with him, and gold of a
different kind than is found anywhere around here, I feel quite certain
that Stackpole's yarn about finding that Cave of Gold comes pretty nigh
to being true, nigh enough at least to be worth investigating."
"Them's my sentiments right down tew a T," declared Ham emphatically.
"Whar thar's ben so much smoke, thar's sart'in tew be some fire. I'm in
favor of makin' a hunt for th' Cave of Gold; but, afore doin' it, I'd
like tew know how that thar wing dam project over in Holt's Gulch is
promisin' tew pan out. If 'twon't take tew long, I'd like tew see that
job finished afore we have a try for th' Cave of Gold. I reckon we've
all put tew many backaches an' armaches intew that dam tew want tew see
'em wasted; an' thar might be a wagon load of gold thar, an', if thar
is, we want tew be th' ones tew git it, after all our work."
"Right, Ham's right," asserted Mr. Randolph. "Now, supposing we all go
down and have a look at that dam, and try to figure out just about how
much longer it will take to finish it, before we decide anything
definitely about the hunt for the Cave of Gold. I feel almost sure that
we are going to strike it rich there, and I'd hate like sin to see any
one else reap where we've sown so many backaches, as Ham says."
"I think Rad has it about right," declared Mr. Conroyal, "and, if there
are no objections, we'll all go down to Holt's Gulch and have a look at
the wing dam. I fancy it wouldn't please none of us much, after working
as hard as we have, to see somebody else step into our boots there and
reap a fortune, as like as not they'd do, if we deserted the dam now. I
reckon it won't take more than a week to finish the dam; and then a few
hours will show whether or not we've struck pay-dirt."
There were no objections made to this proposition, although Rex and Dill
and Thure and Bud grumbled a little over the prospect of having the hunt
for the Cave of Gold delayed for a week; and, accordingly, all started
for Holt's Gulch, so named in honor of its discoverer, Rex Holt.
The gulch was about two miles from Hangtown and was reached by passing
up a deep and steep ravine, that split the side of the hill a little
above Hangtown, for about a mile, and then up and over the side of the
ravine and down into a narrow little valley, into which a little stream
of water tumbled through a rent in the walls of rock that nearly
enclosed the valley. This rent in the rocks was the entrance to Holt's
Gulch; and the dam was being constructed something like half a mile
farther up, where the gulch crooked about, like a bent elbow, and
widened out a little.
Many of the miners were already at work when our little company passed
up the ravine on their way to Holt's Gulch, presenting scenes of the
greatest interest and novelty to the unaccustomed eyes of Thure and Bud,
as they dug for the precious metal, sometimes up to their knees in mud
and water, sometimes so far away from the water that all the pay-dirt
had to be carried on their backs to the creek and there panned, but
always cheerful and hopeful that they "sure would strike it big soon."
"Now, what might those fellows be doing there? They look as if they
might be winnowing wheat; but, of course, that can't be what they are
doing," and Thure turned a puzzled face to Ham, as he pointed to where a
small company of Mexicans, lank and skinny and black as Arabs of the
desert, were gathering the loose dry dirt in large wooden bowls, tossing
it up in the air, where the wind could blow away the lighter particles,
and dexterously catching it again in their bowls, as it came down, or
allowing it to fall on blankets or hides spread on the ground at their
feet, in a manner very similar to the ancient method of separating the
grain from the chaff.
"Them are a breed of Mexies called Sonorans," answered Ham; "an' they
are a-throwin' that dirt up in th' air an' a-catchin' it ag'in tew git
th' gold out of it. You see th' wind keeps a-blowin' th' lighter dirt
out an' a-leavin' th' gold, 'cause it's heavier, until thar's nuthin'
left but th' dirt what's tew heavy for th' wind tew blow away an' th'
gold-dust, which is cleaned by blowing th' heavy dirt out of th' bowl
with th' breath. That way of gittin' gold is called dry-washin'; an' is
tew slow an' dirty for Americans or anybody else that's got much gump
tew 'em; but them tarnal Mexies seem tew thrive on it. I reckon th' good
Lord made 'em nearly black, jest so they could live an' work in dirt,
without th' dirt showin' through much. That sort of thing would kill a
white man in a week," and Ham looked his disgust.
"Say, but this gold-digging is no fun, no matter how you do it, is it?"
and Thure's eyes swept up and down the ravine, where hundreds of men
were toiling like ditch-diggers.
"Fun! Gold-diggin' fun!" and Ham grinned. "Th' feller what comes tew th'
diggin's a-thinkin' that th' gold is a-goin' tew jump up right out of
th' ground, 'cause it's so glad tew see him, is a-goin' tew git fooled
'bout as bad as Dutch Ike did, when he took a skunk for a new kind of an
American house cat an' tried tew pick it up in his arms. Fun! No;
gold-diggin' is jest grit an' j'int grease mixed tewgether an' kept
a-goin' with beans an' salt pork an' flapjacks. But, we're gettin' ahind
a-watchin' them dirty Sonorans. Come on," and the huge strides of Ham
made Thure and Bud both trot to keep up with him, as he hurried after
the others, to whom the dry-washing Mexicans were too common a sight to
be worthy a moment's pause for the purpose of watching.
"Now, dad," and Thure turned inquiringly to his father, when, at length,
all stood together in Holt's Gulch on the mound of dirt that had been
already thrown up in building the wing dam, "I don't just see how this
dam is going to help you find the gold."
"Well, my son," and Mr. Conroyal smiled, "it is not at all surprising to
find that you do not know all about mining, seeing that you have been in
the diggings only over night; but I'll give you the theory of the dam.
This little stream of water, as you can see from where we stand, makes
rather a sharp turn a few rods down, against an almost perpendicular
wall of rock, forming a curve in the stream that can be likened to the
crook in a bent arm, and leaving quite a little open space of ground
almost on a level with the water in the bend of the arm. Now we've
discovered that there is a deep hole right at the elbow joint, partly
filled with gravel and big enough to hold a good many tons of gold, but
too deep to get at through the water; and we've figured it out something
like this. The gold found in all the diggings along the beds of rivers
has been washed out of the rocks by the water and carried down by the
current, until stopped by its own weight or some obstruction; and we
calculate that most of the gold carried down by this stream would sink
down into this hole and stay there, because, gold being so heavy, it
would sure fall down into the hole, and, once there, the water would not
be strong enough to lift it out again. Now, that is the reason why we
think there might be gold and lots of it in that there hole," and he
pointed to the elbow made by the curve in the stream.
"But, of course, not being fish, we cannot get down into the hole to see
whether or not there is gold in it, as long as the water runs over it;
and so we are making this wing dam up here above the elbow, to turn the
stream into a new channel and send it flowing kitti-corner-wise across
the opening between the two arms of the elbow and back into its own
channel below the elbow, which, of course, would leave the elbow dry and
give us a chance to clean out the hole and get all the gold there is in
it."
"Oh, I see now!" exclaimed Thure, his eyes beginning to shine with
excitement. "And you call it a wing dam, because you have to make a sort
of a wing to the main dam, extending for quite a ways out on the dry
land, in order to give the water a sufficient turn to keep it from
flowing back into the old channel until you are ready to have it."
"Exactly," and Mr. Conroyal smiled. "And, if the good Lord will only
keep it from raining until we get the dam finished, all of us might make
our fortunes right here; and, again, we might not find a cent's worth of
gold. It's all a speculation," and he shrugged his big shoulders.
"But--but what difference could a little rain make? You are not afraid
of getting wet, are you?" and Thure smiled at the thought of these hardy
men standing in dread of a little rain.
"No, son, we are not afraid of getting wet," and Mr. Conroyal smiled
grimly. "But a big rain up there in the mountains where this stream
comes from, would mean that in less than no time a flood of water would
come a-tearing down this narrow gulch that would sweep our dam off its
feet quicker than you could wink an eye--and us along with it, if we
didn't get out of here about as lively as the Lord would let us.
Howsomever we are not counting much on a rain, seeing that the dry
season has got a fairly good start; but it might come," and his eyes
turned a little anxiously toward the snow-covered mountains to the
northeast, whence came the little stream of water running through Holt's
Gulch. "But, come, we must get busy. Now, the first thing for us to do
is to figure out about how much longer it will take us to finish the
dam. I calculate that we have the dam about two-thirds done; and, since
we have now been at work twelve days, I think we can count on finishing
it in another six days."
"That's 'bout my idee, Con," agreed Ham. "Another six days otter see th'
finish of th' job; an' then--maybe it will be gold an' maybe it will be
jest a lot of durned hard work for nothin'; but it shore looks good; an'
I'm in favor of seein' this dam through afore tacklin' th' Cave of Gold
propersition."
For an hour or more our friends measured and figured and considered; and
then, all coming to the conclusion that Mr. Conroyal's estimate of the
time required to complete the dam was about right, the Never-Give-Up
California Mining Company went into executive session, and, after again
considering the marvelous tale of the dead miner and again examining the
gold nugget and the skin map and again carefully weighing their chances
of finding gold in the hollow of the stream's elbow after the turning of
the water aside by the dam, the Company finally decided that the dam
proposition looked too good to throw up, even for such an alluring
project as the hunt for the wonderful Cave of Gold, especially since the
Cave of Gold could not run away and would still be there waiting to be
found after the dam proposition had been thoroughly tried out.
Accordingly it was voted to first complete the dam and see if there was
any gold in the old bed of the stream; and then, if it was still the
wish of the Company, they would start on a hunt for the miner's Cave of
Gold.
"That means for everybudy tew git busy tew once with pick or shovel,"
and Ham jumped to his feet and seized a pick the moment the result of
the final vote was announced. "We want tew git this here dam built jest
as soon as we can, an' find out what's in that thar hole; an' then, I
reckon, we'll all want tew have a try for that thar gold cave, unless we
gits enough gold out of th' hole tew plumb fill us all up with gold,"
and Ham grinned joyously, as he struck the sharp point of his pick down
deep into the hard dirt.
There was always the prospect of a big find in the near future to keep
up the spirits of the gold-digger. What did his condition to-day matter
to him, when to-morrow he might fill his pockets full of gold! When all
he had to do was to shoulder his pick and shovel, pick up his gold-pan,
and go out almost anywhere and dig enough gold out of the ground at
least to live on! When every morning was cheered by the possibility of
striking it rich before night, and the discouragements of every night
were lightened by the thought that to-morrow might be his lucky day! The
star of hope always brightened his darkest skies; and so long as he kept
his health, he usually kept his courage and good-nature. Consequently
the reader need not wonder at the joyous grin on Ham's face, when he
began tearing up the earth with his pick; for every blow might be
bringing him a step nearer to a fortune!
The building of a dam under any circumstances is hard and dirty work;
but, when the only tools are picks and shovels, when all the dirt that
cannot be thrown into place with the shovel, must be lugged there on the
backs of the laborers themselves, as was the case with our friends,
then, indeed, does the building of a dam become about as fatiguing work
as a human being can undertake to do, as Thure and Bud both discovered
long before the night of their first day's work in the goldmines of
California came to bring rest to their aching backs and arms and legs.
But that day saw the completion of the wing part of the dam and the new
channel so far as it was thought necessary to dig one and now all that
remained to be done was to extend the dam across the stream itself; and
this progress put all, even the two boys notwithstanding their
weariness, into splendid spirits.
"I reckon it won't take us th' hull six days tew finish th' job,"
commented Ham, as he threw down his pick and wiped his perspiring face
with a huge red handkerchief at the close of the day's work. "We didn't
calculate that you tew yunks was such hosses tew work," and he grinned
into the faces of Thure and Bud; and the two tired boys grinned bravely
back. They were not going to let anybody know just how very, very tired
they really were.
That night, when the returning laborers came within sight of their log
house, they were greatly surprised to see the smoke pouring hospitably
out of its chimney and a light glowing a bright welcome through its
windows.
"Now, who can it be!" exclaimed Ham, the moment his eyes caught sight of
the smoke and the light, while all quickened their steps and their faces
brightened; for company in that lonely log house was such a rarity as to
be most gladly welcomed. "Won't expectin' nobudy, was you, Con?"
"No," answered Conroyal. "I can't imagine who it can be."
"Maybe it's th' minister an' his wife come tew make us a social-like
call. Wal, he won't git no chicken dinner, if it is," and Ham grinned.
At the door of the house the mystery was solved by the sudden appearance
in the doorway of the smiling face of Mrs. Dickson glowing with the heat
of the fire over which she had been cooking and her own happiness,
backed by the grinning countenance of her husband.
"Dick and I felt just as if we had to celebrate our good fortune
someway, or bust," she explained, smiling and bowing to the astonished
men; "and, of course, we didn't want to celebrate it all alone, so we
just moved in here for the celebration, your house being larger than
ours. Now, get washed up as quick as you can and come right in. Supper
is almost ready; and Dick has bought out nearly all the stores in
Hangtown. Thought you men folks might enjoy a taste of woman's cooking
again," and her sweet laugh rang out joyously.
"Got everything good to eat they had in Hangtown, boys," and Dickson
thrust his head out over one of his wife's shoulders; "and Mollie's
cooked a dinner that just fairly makes a fellow's insides jump to get a
whiff of. Whoop! I've taken a good Ten Thousand Dollars' worth of gold
out of that hole by the side of the big rock already! And there is more
left there, boys! There is more left there!" and the happy man caught
his wife around the waist and began waltzing with her around the table.
"Wal, I'll be durned!" was the way Ham expressed his feelings at this
unexpected but most welcomed invasion of their home; and, judging from
the looks on the faces of the others, that was about the way all felt.
Our friends promptly hurried away to the spring to "wash up," as the
Little Woman had commanded; and soon were back again, with, probably,
just a little cleaner faces and hands than they had had before in weeks.
"Now, just sit right down to the table," Mrs. Dickson urged, the moment
they came filing in. "Everything is ready for you to begin eating right
away; and nobody is to wait on ceremony. I know you must be about as
hungry as bears. Dick and I have already eaten until we are both about
ready to bust, the things looked and smelled so good we couldn't wait no
how, so we've got nothing else to do but just to wait on you big hungry
men--There, sit right down there, Ham, in front of that gold-pan
full--but it is a surprise; and I won't tell you what is in that pan
yet," and she pushed the grinning Ham down on the block of wood that did
service in lieu of a dining chair in front of a steaming covered
gold-pan.
One near whiff of the contents of this pan and Ham jumped to his feet.
"Whoop, boys!" he yelled. "It's chicken! It's chicken pie! Whoop! Hurrah
for th' Leetle Woman!" and, whirling suddenly around, he threw one big
arm around Mrs. Dickson, drew her quickly to him, and gave her a smack
on one of her rosy cheeks that sounded like the report of a pistol.
"And the only chickens in Hangtown are in that pie," declared Dickson
proudly. "When we saw those birds Mollie and I just couldn't keep our
hands off them. They seemed to be just a-begging us to buy them and make
them into a chicken pie. Now, fall to, boys; and, with every mouthful
that you eat, think of our good luck. It means a lot to us, boys, a
whole lot to the Little Woman and me. We are going back to our dear old
New York home on the beautiful banks of the Hudson--Hi, there, Ham! Just
start the chicken pie a-going round. You are not the only mouth at the
table," and Dickson, doubtless feeling that sentiment was beginning to
get a little the best of him, rushed excitedly about the table, as he
helped to pass the good things Mrs. Dickson had cooked from one to
another.
That was a dinner to remember as long as one lived. The circumstances of
its giving were so unusual and so generous, its surroundings were so
unique, and its jolliness was so whole-hearted and spontaneous, that
ever afterwards it was one of the bright spots in the memories of all
who were present.
When the eating was ended the men went outside and built a huge fire in
front of the house; and then sat down around it and smoked their pipes
and told stories and compared mining notes and discussed the
ever-present questions of where the gold came from and how it got there,
all of which would make interesting reading, but which, because of other
events that are crowding forward, must be passed over thus briefly.
For a couple of hours the talk around the camp-fire continued; Mrs.
Dickson had joined the circle, and then Mr. and Mrs. Dickson both rose.
"It's getting late and we must be going," declared Mrs. Dickson.
"Not yit! Not yit! Not until you've sung for us!" cried Ham, jumping to
his feet. "We can't let her go without a song, can we, boys?"
The reply was an unanimous demand for the song; and Mrs. Dickson,
smiling and bowing and blushing, like a happy schoolgirl, and declaring
that she was afraid she had eaten too much to sing, straightened up her
plump little body, threw back her head, and was about to begin to sing
in the dark shadows where she stood, when Ham caught her by both her
shoulders and gently pushed her out into the bright light of the
camp-fire.
"Th' song wouldn't sound nigh as good, if we couldn't see th' singer
plain," he declared, his face seemingly one broad grin. "Thar, that's
'bout right," and he swung her around so that the brightest light shone
full on her face. "Now give us good old 'Ben Bolt,' Somehow that song
kinder seems tew sweeten me all up inside," and Ham sat down almost
directly in front of Mrs. Dickson.
Mrs. Dickson had a sweet, clear, bird-like voice, and what she lacked in
training she more than made up in the feeling she put into the words she
sang; and her singing always touched the hearts of these lonely miners
deeply. But to-night, as she stood there, with the ruddy light of the
camp-fire shining on her face and dimly illuminating the surrounding
shadows of the lonely night and the towering mountains and the tall pine
trees, and sang the beautiful words and melody of "Sweet Alice, Ben
Bolt," she struck a deeper chord still, and all listened like men
entranced until the last note died away in the silence of the encircling
night.
"I never knowed I liked music so well, 'til I heer'd th' Leetle Woman
sing," declared Ham the moment the sound of Mrs. Dickson's voice ceased.
"Her singin' seems tew come a-knockin' right at th' door of a feller's
heart. Now, dew sing us another one," and he turned pleadingly to Mrs.
Dickson.
"Yes, I will sing you just one more song; and then we must be going. It
must be nearly ten o'clock; and those two tired boys have been nodding
their heads for the last half-hour."
"Me!" "We!" and Thure and Bud both sat up very straight. "Oh, we were
just nodding our heads to keep time to your music. Please do sing
again."
For answer Mrs. Dickson lifted her face to the sparkling skies; and
then, while the tears gathered in her own eyes and her sweet voice
trembled a little, she sang that song dear to the hearts of all
wanderers no matter where they roam, "Home, Sweet Home."
"Now, good night, everybody. Come, Dick," and, turning quickly the
moment she stopped singing, Mrs. Dickson caught hold of her husband's
arm and hurried away before the spell of the song and the singer was
broken.
A half an hour later the lights in both the houses were out and their
inmates sound asleep.