HIGH TIME TO LEAVE
Glancing at his companion, Percy, rather to his alarm, saw that Jack’s
face was quite pale, his eyes wide open and staring, and that, though
the day was cool, the perspiration was running down his cheeks. The
fact was that Jack was taken with a brief but sharp attack of that
curious disease known as “the gold fever.” To Percy the amount of gold
in the pan was no more than he had expected; but Jack, on the other
hand, was well aware that a spoonful of gold to one small pan of “dirt”
was something extraordinary.
“Percy,” he burst out, in a high state of excitement, “this is
tremendous! Perfectly tremendous! There is fifty times--a hundred
times--as much gold in that pan as I expected to see. There must be a
vein of extraordinary richness somewhere about here. We must set to
work to find it.”
“I’m ready,” responded Percy, catching something of his companion’s
excitement. “But how are we to set to work? I don’t know where to look
for it, nor what to look for.”
“First of all,” replied Jack, “we’ll clean out all the pot-holes, and
test them, one at a time, to see how they compare for richness with
the first one. After that we’ll test the soil on both banks, and after
that--well, after that we’ll see. Will you just go over to the camp and
bring down the wash-pan, a tin plate, and another spoon, while I try to
get rid of a little more of this black sand in the pan?”
Percy was soon on hand with the desired articles, when Jack set him to
work scouring the plate and the wash-pan with sand in order to remove
any particles of grease there might be adhering to them. This being
done, the gold was turned into the plate, and the pair, each armed
with a bent spoon, applied their labour to clearing out the next two
pot-holes; depositing all the black sand in the wash-pan, and dabbing a
clay ball over the bottom of each hole. Jack then proceeded to extract
the gold from the clay balls, while Percy cleaned out hole number
four. In this manner they worked their way down-stream until they had
cleaned up fourteen holes, each one of which yielded more or less gold,
though, as a rule, the quantity decreased as they descended. There
were only three holes left, but by this time the supply of clay had
given out, and Percy therefore went back to look for more. There was no
more where they had found the original deposit, but a few steps away,
still beneath the cap of the Mushroom Rock, he found another heap which
he gathered up and carried back to the stream. This lot of clay, he
observed, had a reddish tinge, whereas the other had been almost pure
white; but though he noticed the fact he thought nothing of it, and set
to work on the last three holes without delay.
To the surprise both of Jack and himself none of these three holes
produced a scrap of gold--not a “colour.”
“That is curious,” remarked Jack. “But I suppose the first fourteen
holes are so arranged in the bed of the creek as to intercept all the
gold that comes down. Are you sure that you cleaned up the last three
as thoroughly as you did the others?”
“I believe so,” replied Percy, “but I’ll do them over again and make
sure.”
“One’s enough,” said Jack. “Do the first of the three.”
The result was the same, however. They got black sand, but not a speck
of gold could they see, even with the aid of the magnifying-glass which
Jack produced from his pocket.
“Well,” said he, “then I suppose that is all the gold we are going to
get out of the creek, so let us go ahead and try the soil on the banks
to see if the vein it comes from is on this side or that, or from the
mountain which supplies the creek itself.”
Percy was about to assent to this proposal, when a sudden chill in the
atmosphere caused them both to look up. The sun was going down.
“Why, just look at the sun!” Percy exclaimed. “I’d no idea it was so
late.”
“Neither had I,” responded Jack. “We’ve been so busy that I forgot all
about the time. Come, let us get back to camp.”
“Poor old Tom!” said my chum, remorsefully. “There he has been, perched
up in his sentry-box all day, and not a scrap of dinner has he had.
He’ll think we’ve forgotten him.”
“If he does, he’ll be right,” said Jack, laughing. “Poor old chap,
though, I’m sorry. Here, Percy, I’ll carry the things; you run on and
let him out.”
I did think they had forgotten me, I confess. All day long I had stood,
or sat, at my post, with nothing to do but whistle and talk to Ulysses.
Noontime came, but no dinner. Should I run down to the camp and get
something to eat? No, I shouldn’t. I was here to keep watch, dinner or
no dinner, and watch I would keep if I got none for a week. There was
one way, I knew, by which I could make my companions come flying to my
relief, namely, by firing my rifle; but that, I thought, would not be
fair; it would alarm them unnecessarily. I remembered, besides, the
fable of the shepherd boy who called “wolf” when there was no wolf.
No; I must stick it out. And stick it out I did, though such a long,
tedious day I never spent before.
But when Percy came running up the gully, and, clambering into the
fort, with one breath apologized for forgetting me, and in the next
told me how it happened, I forgave them. And when, going down to the
camp, I saw the little heap of gold in the tin plate, I forgave them
still more. I did not wonder that they had forgotten me for I should
certainly have done the same by them.
“What do you suppose it is worth, Jack?” I asked, as I stirred up the
wet and shining heap with my finger. “Thirty or forty dollars?”
Jack laughed. “Three or four hundred is nearer the mark, I expect,”
said he. “Just lift it.”
The tin plate was standing in the gold-pan, and when I went to take it
up I thought for the moment they must be stuck together; it was so much
heavier than I had anticipated.
“Why,” said I, “it must weigh two pounds.”
“Just about,” replied Jack; “tin plate, black sand, and all; and so
I make a guess that the gold is worth four hundred dollars or so,
reckoning gold at eighteen dollars the Troy ounce, as they do here.”
It seemed impossible; such a little heap.
“But, Jack,” said I, as the discomforting thought suddenly occurred to
me, “suppose it should not be gold at all. How do you know it isn’t
copper?”
“Oh, there’s no mistaking gold when you’ve once seen it,” replied Jack.
“This stuff is gold, all right; I have no doubt about it at all. But
still, if you like, I’ll test it and make certain, just to set your
mind at rest, and to satisfy you that we haven’t put in ten hours’ hard
labour to-day on a wild-goose chase.”
Stepping over to the baggage, Jack hunted out an old cigar-box in
which were a tiny porcelain cup and a little glass-stoppered bottle,
the latter containing nitric acid. Pouring a little of the acid into
the cup, Jack dropped a scrap of the gold into it, and raking some hot
ashes from the fire he set the cup upon them. Soon the acid began to
simmer, and for five minutes it continued to do so, without, however,
producing the slightest effect upon the metal; nor did the liquid
itself change colour.
“It is gold, all right,” said Jack, removing the cup. “Now, I’ll just
show you what would have happened if it had been copper.”
With his knife he cut a shaving from a copper rivet, dropped the
fragment into the cup, and replaced the cup upon the ashes. In an
instant the acid attacked the copper, and pretty soon it had eaten it
all up, turning itself a beautiful green colour in the process.
“You see,” said Jack, “the copper can’t stand against this powerful
acid, whereas the gold doesn’t care a rap for it. Gold will hold its
own against any single acid; you must make a mixture of two of them
before you can dissolve ‘the royal metal,’ as it is called. So that
question is settled. We have found gold, without doubt. The next thing
to find is the place it came from.”
Until bedtime that evening we sat together in the sentry-box talking
over our find and arranging the programme for the morrow, and next
morning, Percy, whose turn it was to go on guard, went off up the
gully,--wisely taking his dinner with him,--while I accompanied Jack
down to the creek.
Above the Mushroom Rock the bed of the stream was cumbered with
boulders fallen from the mountain, but in between them were many
crevices and hollows containing more or less sand and small gravel.
These little depositories we examined carefully, picking up the residue
by means of the red clay, of which we had a good supply left over from
the day before, but in none of them was there so much as a colour of
gold. At length we had worked up close to the circular basin which the
stream, falling from the cliff above, had worn in its hard stone bed,
and there, just below the basin, we found a natural “riffle,” as Jack
called it; a little ledge two inches high running across the stream,
with an accumulation of sand on its upper side.
This sand Jack proceeded to clear out with his spoon, but as we had
again used up our stock of clay, he sent me back to the old place to
look for more. There was very little left, but I managed to collect a
double handful, including a small amount of the white material which
I scraped up with my knife, and carrying it back to the scene of
operations I handed it over to my chief. This time we did find gold,
a small amount, certainly, but enough to convince Jack of what he had
suspected all along, namely, that the vein was somewhere upon the
mountain above the wall.
“We shall have to make a ladder,” said he, “and set it up on top of the
bank there in order to get up the wall; a ladder twenty feet long will
do, I think. But before we do so we will test the soil on both banks of
the creek to make sure that the gold did come from up-stream, and not
from the mountain on either side.”
As we fully expected, our tests of the soil, and we made many of them,
were unproductive; the vein, we felt certain, was somewhere on the
mountain in which the stream had its source.
With that belief impressed upon our minds we turned to, forthwith, to
build a ladder. Carrying a couple of long poles to the highest point of
the bank, and setting them against the wall, we next cut into strips
the elk-hide which had once served as a door to the cabin, and with
the thongs bound cross-pieces to the uprights every two feet of their
length, making by these means a rough but serviceable ladder.
Though by this time it was getting on towards sunset, we scrambled
up to the top of the wall to make a brief survey of the country we
proposed to prospect; and a tremendous task, it seemed to me, we had
set ourselves. Dozens of gullies, big and little, wide and narrow,
straight and crooked, led down to the creek, in any one of which, and
in any part of any one of which, the vein might lie concealed; a vein
perhaps no wider than one’s hand. It looked to me very much like a
hopeless task. Jack, however, did not seem to be disconcerted by the
outlook.
“We’ll begin to-morrow,” said he, “and take these gullies one at a time
and search them thoroughly. It is my belief that the vein is composed
of some soft material which washes away easily, and that we shall find
it, when we do find it, in some deep crevice; for, as you will have
noticed, all the gold we have washed out yet has been entirely free
of any quartz or other rock, or of vein-matter of any kind--rather
unfortunately, for we have no sample of the rock to go by. As it is, we
shall have to bring down specimens of any veins we may find, grind them
up between two stones, and wash them like any other gravel.”
“It seems to me, Jack,” said I, “that it might take us a year to go
over all the country that drains into this creek; there is so much of
it.”
“I hope not,” replied Jack, “because we can’t give it more than a month
at most. It will be high time for you fellows to be going home; and
what is more, at this altitude we are likely to have a snow-storm any
day, which would cover up the country and stop our prospecting anyhow.
Let us go back to camp now. To-morrow, while you are on guard, Percy
shall go and bring in a deer, so that we may have a good supply of meat
on hand, and I will come up here and make a preliminary survey, in
order that we may get to work in a systematic, businesslike manner.”
This plan was duly followed out, and for twenty days thereafter Percy
and I, taking it turn about, accompanied Jack up the mountain,
tramping up and down all day long, prying into all its cracks and
crannies, and bringing back every night one or more samples of rock for
the sentinel of next day to grind up between two stones. And a blessing
it was to the sentinel to have such an occupation to fill up the time;
for, as it was not necessary that he should keep his eye glued to the
loophole without intermission, he had a large amount of spare time on
his hands.
But of all the dozens of samples we ground up not one showed so much
as a trace of gold. It was very disheartening. To Jack, especially, it
was a great disappointment. After our astonishing find in the pot-holes
his hopes had been so high; he had felt so sure that before next spring
the mine at Golconda would be going again, full blast; he was so full
of plans for the future, when he and his father and mother and sister
would be all living there together, that his disappointment at our
non-success was all the more keen. And now our time was almost up. The
threatening weather warned us that we must prepare to leave; and not
a vestige of a gold-vein had we found for all our searching. Poor old
Jack! He became more and more gloomy as the days went by; and what
with the hard work and the shortened allowance of sleep--for he always
took his share of night-watching--he was beginning to look quite gaunt
and careworn. Percy and I had less cause for worry and more time for
rest, but the work was beginning to tell upon us too. It was hard
enough in any case, tramping over the rocks at the heels of a leader so
eager and energetic as Jack, but the loss of one-third of one’s natural
sleep made it almost unbearable. Day after day we became more and
more tired; the tiredness seemed to accumulate, it became chronic; we
dragged our feet after us as we walked; and as to running, nothing less
than a ramping, raging grizzly bear could have induced us to run a step.
It was a good thing we had those samples of rock to grind up in the
daytime, or, I fear, without that occupation for mind and body there
would have been a very good chance of the sentinel being caught
napping, had there been anybody to catch him--which apparently there
was not;--for, all this time, we had seen no sign of Squeaky, and we
had come to the conclusion that he must have been scared out of the
neighbourhood altogether.
It was after supper on the evening of the twenty-first day of our stay
in the valley that Jack came to the sentry-box where Percy and I were
sitting over a little fire discussing our prospects, and after standing
thoughtfully warming his hands for a few minutes, he said, evidently
with much reluctance:
“Well, you fellows, the jig’s up. We must go. We’re all pretty well
worn out; and what’s more, there is a snow-storm brewing; and a heavy
snow might make it difficult to get out of the valley. We’ll put in one
more day here, and the next morning we’ll pack up and get out. I hate
to give up, but there’s nothing else for it that I see. We must go.”
“But look here, Jack,” said Percy. “It seems a pity to give up until we
are obliged to do so. Let us take a day off to-morrow and rest up. And
I believe we might leave off mounting guard at night if we all three
were to sleep here in the fort; Ulysses would never let anyone come
near us. Then we shouldn’t feel so desperately tired all the time, and
we could go on with our prospecting until it does snow.”
“That seems to me to be a pretty good idea,” I put in. “And if it
clouds up so that we feel sure that it is going to snow, why, then,
we’ll clear out at once. I vote that we don’t give in till we must.”
“You may be sure,” said Jack, “that I don’t want to give in any more
than you do; but I’m afraid it is going to snow very soon, and if it
does, that will be the end of our prospecting, for the ground won’t be
clear again till next spring. You have noticed, perhaps, how the wind
has been blowing from the south for the last two or three days; well,
it has chopped round to the north since supper, and that means snow
before long, I expect. In fact, I would get out to-morrow, but that
there are still two gullies I am anxious to inspect before we go. Percy
and I will each take one of them, and if we make an early start we can
give them a pretty thorough going over before dark. Then, whether we
find anything or not, I think we must pack up and leave next morning.
I’m really afraid of being caught down here by a snow-storm.”
“We ought to have some meat for the journey,” remarked Percy, who, as
cook, took charge of such matters; “there is hardly enough left for
three meals. How are we going to get it, if Tom is on guard, and I go
with you up on the mountain?”
“We’ll manage it this way,” replied Jack, after a moment’s hesitation.
“You shall take the smaller of the two gullies to-morrow, Percy, and
whether you have time to go over it all or not, you shall come back
here about the middle of the afternoon and go down to the lower end of
the valley and get us a deer; there are always deer to be seen down
there, and you ought to be able to get one before night.”
“Very well,” responded Percy. “I’ll do so. We must have meat for the
journey.”
“Yes. Three days’ supply, at least. It will probably take us that
length of time to get to Bozeman.”
According to this arrangement the pair set off at daylight next
morning, while I remained on guard in the sentry-box. The day passed
uneventfully, as usual, until about half-past four in the afternoon,
when Percy looked in upon me on his way down the valley, and having
handed me one sample of rock to grind, walked off again, his rifle over
his shoulder.
A quarter of a hour later, perhaps, I heard a shot. Ulysses, who was
lying stretched out beside me, cocked up one ear, but otherwise took no
notice. The next moment, however, to my great astonishment, he sprang
up, leaped out of the fort, and ran, helter-skelter, out of the gully.
I dropped my grinding-stone, seized my rifle, and sprang to the
loophole. There was nothing to be seen there. What, then, was the
matter with Ulysses? He must have heard something that I had not;
something to alarm him, too, or he would not have thus deserted his
post,--for the old dog, I believe, knew just as well as I did that he
was on guard.
I jumped down from the shelf and ran to the mouth of the gully, where
I stood still to listen. I could hear nothing; but, fearing that
Percy might be in need of help, I ventured to run on until I had
passed through the fringe of trees which interrupted my view of the
valley-bottom.
There, the first thing I saw was our herd of animals. They were close
to the camp, each one standing with his head held high and his ears
pointed forward, snorting and gazing down the valley. I looked in the
same direction, and, instantly, I, too, forgot that I was on guard. I,
too, deserted my post, and raced off down the valley.
About half a mile away, and on the far side of the stream, was Percy,
running, as never mortal boy ran before I should think, in my
direction. Close behind him, in full chase, was a bear--an immense
beast. It looked to me to be about the size of a full-grown steer,
though not so tall. Between Percy and me--but a good deal nearer to him
than to me--was Ulysses, going like a mad creature to the rescue.
I had not cleared half the distance between us when the conditions of
the chase were suddenly altered. The bear had come so close to Percy
that the fugitive, fearing to be caught the next moment, doubled like
a hare and ran back again towards the trees. The ponderous pursuer,
unable to check himself so quickly, ran on for several yards, but then,
doubling also, he was about to resume the chase in this new direction
when Ulysses, leaping the creek, and rushing up the opposite slope,
darted in like a flash and seized him by the hind leg. The enraged
beast whirled about and made a slap at Ulysses that would have torn
the dog in two had it taken effect. But our old friend was cunning as
well as brave. He let go and jumped away; and then the two stood, their
noses about six feet apart, eying each other like two gladiators; the
bear growling and showing all his formidable teeth, and Ulysses going
“G-rrr, g-rrr, n-yam, n-yam, n-yam,” as a dog does when he sees through
the parlour window another dog come into the front yard and scratch up
the grass as if it belonged to him.
This diversion, as I believe, saved Percy’s life. It gave him time to
reach a tree, up which he went like a demented squirrel.
Meanwhile I had come within fair range of the bear, and kneeling
down I took careful aim and fired. That my bullet struck the beast
was evident, for he roared with anger, and then, with an activity
surprising in so unwieldy an animal, he sprang at Ulysses. Ulysses,
however, knowing that in this case discretion was very much the better
part of valour, nimbly got out of the way, upon which the bear turned
short round and came charging at me.
My! How I did run! Nobody knows his own capabilities as a foot-racer
until he has undergone the experience of running away from a wrathful
bear, whose firm-set determination it is to tear him to pieces if he
can catch him.
Though Ulysses, the moment the bear turned his back, seized him
again by the leg, the big beast took no notice of him. Strong as a
bull, he dragged the dog after him with ease, and even with that
incumbrance hampering his movements he gained upon me at every stride.
Fortunately, having a good start, I succeeded in reaching the trees
while the pursuer was yet some distance behind; seeing which, the bear
gave up the chase and stopped again to slap at Ulysses.
I had dropped my rifle, as had Percy, also, I found; so, there we
were, on opposite sides of the little valley, each perched in a tree,
with a vengeful bear keeping strict watch and ward over us. I wondered
how long we should have to stay there; and I wondered also whether
Jack would presently come to our rescue. From the positions of the
two trees we occupied neither of us could see up the valley, and for
the same reason Jack would not be able to see us. He might, however,
observe Ulysses and the bear out in the open; though not unless he came
pretty soon, for the clouds were heavy that evening, and it was already
growing dark.
Two or three times both Percy and I made attempts to recover our
rifles, but our watchful antagonist would not permit it, each time
driving us back in haste to our places of refuge. The time wore on, and
the darkness rapidly increased, but at length, when it had become so
dark that I could no longer distinguish with certainty between the dog
and the bear, I saw through the branches of the trees a sudden flash
of fire, followed by the report of a rifle. Next I heard the joyful
barking of Ulysses, and directly afterwards the sound of Jack’s voice
calling to Percy. Down I scrambled from my tree, and running to the
spot whence the voice came, I found Jack standing over the body of the
bear, while Percy had just arrived from the opposite direction.
“Hallo, Tom!” exclaimed our captain in surprise. “You here too?”
“Yes,” said I, remembering for the first time that I was supposed to be
acting sentry. “I was obliged to come. I quite forgot, I confess, that
I was on guard, but I have no doubt I should have come just the same if
I had remembered. I had no time to think, as it happened, but all the
thinking in the world would have made no difference; I should have come
just the same.”
I then related to Jack the circumstances of the case, upon which, to my
relief, he remarked:
“I see. Yes, of course. You were quite right. You couldn’t do anything
else. I should certainly have done the same, even if I had known that
Squeaky was likely to be down on us in the next five minutes. Oh, yes;
you were perfectly right. I think, though, you had better find your
rifle and go back now. Percy and I will follow as soon as we have cut
out one of the bear’s hams.”
It was a long time before I could find my rifle, even with Percy’s
help, and in consequence, when I did at length get back to the fort, it
was so dark in the narrow cañon that I could not see my hand before my
face. However, I knew my way into the sentry-box well enough, and there
I took up my station again until, an hour or so later, Percy came up to
relieve me.
After I had had my supper, Jack and I carried all our blankets up to
the fort; for it was our intention to sleep there that night. We had
had a hard day and were very tired, and as we expected another day as
hard on the morrow we had decided to go without a sentinel for that
one night, trusting to the ever-watchful Ulysses to give us notice if
anyone should approach the bars.
For half an hour we sat about the little fire we had built inside
the fort, while Percy related to us how he had accidentally stumbled
upon the bear that day, and how the bear had charged upon him without
provocation--a very unusual thing. After which Jack explained his part
of the affair, telling us how, when he returned to camp, he had espied
Ulysses and the bear standing in the midst of the valley, and how,
guessing that Percy must be in trouble, he had run to help him,--never
thinking that he should find me there as well.
“You must have been in a pretty awkward position, Percy, about the time
Ulysses arrived,” said he.
“I was,” Percy responded. “I was badly scared, I can tell you. Ulysses,
old chap,” putting his arm around the dog, who was sitting with his
chin in the air, blinking at the fire, “whenever I get my share of that
gold we can’t find, you shall have a medal. Just you remember, now.”
“I’m afraid he’ll have to go without his medal, then,” said Jack;
“because we must get out of here to-morrow as early as possible. I
don’t like the look of things. I’m rather afraid the snow may catch us
down here. Come, let us turn in; we shall want all the sleep we can
get.”
It was still pitch-dark when Jack’s voice roused us next morning.
“Tumble up, you fellows, tumble up!” he cried. “No time to waste! Snow
in the air! We must dig out at once!”
He was right about there being no time to waste. Already the snow,
fluttering into the fort, was covering our beds with ominous rapidity,
and, to our dismay, when we jumped down from the ledge we felt--for we
could not see--that the ground was carpeted with snow a foot thick,
while the continuous pattering upon our hands and faces proclaimed only
too plainly that the storm we had feared was upon us in earnest.
As it would be useless to attempt to find the horses in the dark, we
set about the difficult task of getting breakfast first; nor was it
until we had finished that meal that there was daylight enough to
enable us to see clearly how hard it was snowing. Jack was alarmed.
“Percy,” he exclaimed, “run at once to the fort, bring down the
blankets, and then put the packs together. Tom, take a turn up the
valley and look for the horses. I will go down-stream. If you find
them, fire your rifle. I will do the same. Hurry!”
Away we all went, in three different directions; but Jack and I had not
gone far ere we heard the report of a rifle in the direction of the
cañon. Back we hurried at once, to meet Percy coming down to the camp
at a run. His face was pale, and he was so out of breath, more from
agitation seemingly than from exertion, that he could not speak.
“What’s the matter?” cried Jack, sharply, feeling a vague alarm at the
sight of Percy’s troubled countenance. “Anything wrong?”
“The horses are stolen!” he gasped.
Most boys who have played through a football season will remember the
sensation of being knocked over backwards by one of his opponents
taking him “in the wind” with the point of his shoulder. It was some
such sensation that Percy’s announcement produced upon us. It did
not knock us over, but it deprived us for the moment of the power of
speech. Only for a moment, however.
“How do you know?” asked Jack, as soon as he had recovered from the
first shock of this staggering news.
“The bars are down, and the dead trees are all pulled to one side,”
replied Percy. “They must have done it yesterday when Tom and I were
down the valley; and we didn’t notice it because of the darkness.
What’s to be done, Jack?”
“Done?” cried our leader. “Clap some bread and meat into our pockets,
and follow at once. I don’t suppose we can overtake them, but we must
get out of this place as fast as we can; the snow is coming down harder
than ever.”
Without more words we set off, and having toiled up the steep,
snow-cumbered cañon and waded waist-deep through the tunnel, we
carefully descended the water-slope and turned into the dry gorge.
But no sooner had we turned the corner than we stopped short, with an
exclamation of dismay; for a new misfortune, and one even more serious
than the loss of our horses, had overtaken us. The great wedge-shaped
rock had fallen, or had been upset, from above. The gorge was blocked.
We could not get out!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]