THE FURNISHING OF A NEW HOME.
It was understood, without discussion, that Max should take the
superintendence of all mining operations, that Len should be the buyer
and business man of the firm generally, and that Sandy should look after
the housekeeping. Of course, they would all work together, but these
were the specialties of each partner.
“Now who is to go back after the rest of our possessions,” demanded
Lennox, as they gathered at breakfast on the morning following their
arrival. “I don’t reckon there’s any use of two going.”
“No--I’d as lief do it,” Max remarked. “I can re-cinch and manage the
jacks rather better than the rest of you, I imagine.”
“You certainly have my permission,” remarked Lennox, with a smile.
“An’ I’m no hinderin’ ye, as the brig said to the burn,” Sandy echoed.
“The young man frae Virginia can stay an’ help me get the hoose in
trim.”
So the donkeys were brought up and saddled, Max marched away, and the
other lads turned to their house-cleaning.
The former owners of the property had built a pretty good log cabin at
the head of the dump, close to the mouth of the tunnel, the door and
front window of which faced down the gulch and straight at the Aurora’s
dump. There was a rude fireplace in which had been left a dilapidated
cooking stove. The first task was the straightening up of this, and
putting it into condition for use, which Len soon accomplished.
At the farther end of the cabin a series of bunks had been built out of
poles. These were now broken and unwholesome, so they were pulled to
pieces, the loose bark and other dirt cleared away from the logs and
floor behind them, and new ones were put up, a layer of slender,
elastic poles making an excellent bed-bottom in each bunk; and spruce
boughs luxurious mattresses upon which to spread the buffalo robes and
blankets.
This and some other tidying had taken all day, but when Max came in
about sundown, the kettle was singing and dancing on the old stove, that
leaked fire-light, if not fire, from a dozen cracks, and all three were
well satisfied with themselves and their snug home; while the boy, who
came with Max to drive the donkeys back, was loud in his praises, and
went away convinced that no body on the Creek could make flapjacks equal
to Sandy McKinnon.
That evening, as they sat in the doorway, wedging handles into the picks
and preparing the little mine lamps, Max suddenly exclaimed:
“Oh, I forgot to tell you! While I was packing the last burro,
Squint-eyed Bob came moseying around and wanted to know what I was up to
and where I was going, and so on--evidently prying ’round for
information. I gave him short answers, but he wasn’t satisfied, and
finally boned me outright to know if we weren’t going up to Jim Bowen’s
mine on Panther Creek. That roused my dander. ‘Hang it, Bob,’ I
retorted, ‘what business is it of yours, where I’m going, or what I am
doing? May be I’m going up Panther Creek and may be I’m not--I don’t see
what odds it makes to you!’ He saw I was mad and backed off, but he
blurted out one thing before he left, that I don’t quite savvy.”
“What was that?”
“I can’t give his words exactly, but it was to the effect that ‘in this
country, when a man jumped another man’s claim he was dogon likely to
hear from it pretty soon, and that what was left of him wasn’t worth any
funeral expenses.’ Then he yelled something about ‘fixing me,’ and went
off. Now what can he do?”
“Oh, nothing at all,” said Len. “It’s all bluster. He was trying to
bluff you.”
“That may be, but he means to make mischief if he can, and we must look
out for him. However, I fancy we’re safe till morning, and I’m going to
sleep. Good-night.”
“As for Jim Bowen,” Len answered, “he told me himself, when he was here
last, that if I ever wanted to do anything in or about the Aurora, I was
welcome to do what I could, for he never should try to develop it.”
A DISCOURAGING EXPLORATION.