THE GREAT PIKE'S PEAK RUSH
OR
TERRY IN THE NEW GOLD FIELDS
BY EDWIN L. SABIN
"These mountains are supposed to contain minerals, precious stones
and gold and silver ore. It is but late that they have taken the
name Rocky Mountains; by all the old travelers they are called the
Shining Mountains, from an infinite number of crystal stones of an
amazing size, with which they are covered, and which, when the sun
shines full upon them, sparkle so as to be seen at a great
distance."
--_From a Geography One Hundred Years Ago._
NEW YORK
THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1917,
BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY.
[Illustration: "NONE OF THAT, MR. IKE CHUBBERS!" REPEATED HARRY, STOUTLY
FORCING THE MUZZLE UPWARD]
TRAIL AND DIGGIN'S PEOPLE
OLD ACQUAINTANCES:
TERRY RICHARDS Off to the Gold Fields
MR. AND MRS. RICHARDS His Parents
HARRY REVERE His Partner
GEORGE STANTON A Tender-foot
VIRGIE STANTON Also a Tender-foot
MR. AND MRS. STANTON Their Parents
SOL JUDY A "Forty-niner"
PINE KNOT IKE Not so Tough After All
THUNDER HORSE Bad Medicine
SHEP Ready for Anything
DUKE THE HALF-BUFFALO} Queer Wagon Mates
JENNY THE YELLOW MULE}
NEW ACQUAINTANCES:
THE SICK BOY Who Shows His Gratitude
PAT CASEY With a Taste for Pie
LITTLE RAVEN White Man's Friend
LEFT HAND Official Interpreter
HORACE GREELEY New York Tribune Editor
JOURNALIST RICHARDSON Boston Journal Reporter
JOURNALIST VILLARD The Cincinnati Reporter
GREEN RUSSELL} The Original "Boomers"
JOHN GREGORY }
MCGREW THE WHEEL-BARROW MAN Who "Pushed" Across
And Certain Others of the Busy Folk That Thronged the Gulches and the
Young Denver City.
PLACE AND TIME: The Pike's Peak Country of the Rocky Mountains, 1859.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. To the Mountains of Gold 1
II. The "Pike's Peak Limited" 15
III. Duke on a Rampage 29
IV. The Trail Grows Lonesome 39
V. Tough Luck for the Limited 53
VI. Just in Time 65
VII. Shep Does His Duty 75
VIII. The Trail Grows Lively 91
IX. Now Where Is the "Elephant"? 103
X. "Forward March" to Gregory Gulch 116
XI. "Rich at Last!" 126
XII. Panning the "Golden Prize" 138
XIII. Ready for Big Business, But * * * 147
XIV. Pat Casey Helps Out 161
XV. Horace Greeley Comes to Town 171
XVI. Two Tenderfeet Arrive 180
XVII. Another Call for Hustle 192
XVIII. Never Say Die! 201
XIX. To the Pound-a-Day 211
XX. Millions in Sight 224
XXI. Terry Makes a Deal 233
XXII. The "Virginia Consolidated" 241
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
DRAWINGS BY H. FISK.
PAGE
"None of that, Mr. Ike Chubbers!" repeated Harry,
stoutly forcing the muzzle upward (frontis)
"Terry flew to the cart ... flew back again with
the precious fluid" 65
"The giant sat down with an explosive grunt, and
Harry stood over, scarcely panting, revolver
dangling in hand" 167
"You dare to lay hand on this or interfere in any
way and I'll show you what a Californy Forty-niner
knows about protecting property" 245
THE GREAT PIKE'S PEAK RUSH
CHAPTER I
TO THE MOUNTAINS OF GOLD
"Twenty-five thousand people--and more on the way! Think of that!"
exclaimed Mr. Richards, Terry's father.
It was an evening in early April, 1859, and spring had come to the
Richards ranch, up the Valley of the Big Blue, Kansas Territory.
Excitement had come, too, for Harry (Harry Revere, that is, the clever,
boyish Virginia school-teacher who was a regular member of the family)
had been down to the town of Manhattan, south on the Kansas River and
the emigrant trail there, and had brought back some Kansas City and St.
Louis papers. They were brimming with the news of a tremendous throng of
gold-seekers swarming to cross the plains for the new gold fields,
discovered only last year, in the Pike's Peak country of the Rocky
Mountains.
"Do you suppose it's true, Ralph? So many?" appealed Mrs. Richards,
doubting.
"Whew!" gasped Terry--the third man in the family. At least, he worked
as hard as any man.
"I believe it," asserted Harry. "Manhattan's jammed and the trail in
both directions is a sight!"
"So are Kansas City and Leavenworth, according to the dispatches,"
laughed Terry's father. "People from the east are flocking across Iowa,
to the Missouri River, and the steamboats up from St. Louis are loaded
to the guards--everybody bound for the Pike's Peak country and the
Cherry Creek diggin's there. It beats the California rush of Forty-nine
and Fifty."
"But twenty-five thousand, Ralph!" Mother Richards protested.
"Yes, and the papers say there'll be a hundred thousand before summer's
over."
"Oh, Pa! Can't we go?" pleaded Terry.
"And quit the ranch?"
"But if we don't go now all the gold will be found."
"I think it would be sinful to leave this good ranch and go clear out
there, with nothing certain," voiced his mother, anxiously. "You know it
almost killed your father. He'd never have got home, if it hadn't been
for you."
"That was when he was coming back, and we wouldn't need to come back,"
argued Terry. "And he fetched some gold, too, didn't he?"
"And hasn't recovered yet!" triumphed Mother Richards. "He couldn't
possibly stand another long overland trip--and I don't want to stand it,
either. Why, we're just nicely settled, all together again, on our own
farm."
"Well, some of us ought to go," persisted Terry. "I'd a heap rather dig
gold than plant it.'
"I notice you aren't extra fond of digging potatoes, though," slily
remarked Harry. "You say it makes your back ache!"
"Digging gold's different," retorted Terry. "Besides, we've a gold mine
already, haven't we? The one dad discovered. If we don't get there soon
somebody else will dig everything out of it and we'll have only a hole."
"That will be a cellar for us, anyway, to put a house over," mused
Harry, who always saw opportunities.
"I don't lay much store on that claim of mine," confessed Terry's
father. "The country'll be over-run, and if the spot was worth anything
it's probably jumped, or will be jumped very quickly. And I don't
remember where it is."
"But what a rush!" faltered Mrs. Richards, glancing through the paper.
"The news does say twenty-five thousand people about to cross the plains
and more coming. I do declare! I'm sure some of them will suffer
dreadfully."
"Yes; they'll earn their way, all right," agreed Father Richards. "It's
a tough region, yonder at the mountains--and the more people, the
tighter the living, till they raise other crops than gold."
"Then that's the reason why we ought to be starting--so as to get in
ahead," persisted Terry. "This ranching's awful slow, and it's toler'ble
hard work, too. Putting stuff in and taking it out again."
"You can't expect to 'take stuff out' unless you do put some in, first,
can you?" demanded his father. "That's the law of life. But if you think
you can dodge hard work, go on and try."
"Where?" blurted Terry.
"Anywhere. To the Pike's Peak country. You have my permission." And his
father's blue eyes twinkled.
"Oh, Ralph!" protested Terry's mother, aghast. "Don't joke about it."
"Aw, I can't go alone," stammered Terry, taken aback.
"I'm not joking," asserted Father Richards. "But he'll have to find his
own outfit, like other gold-seekers. Then he can go, and we'll follow
when we can."
Mother Richards dropped the paper.
"Ralph! Have you the fever again? Oh, dear!"
Gold-fever she meant, of course. Father Richards smiled, and rubbed his
hair where it showed a white streak over the wound received when on
their road out from the Missouri River, a year ago, to settle on the
ranch, he had been knocked off his horse in fording Wildcat Creek, and
had disappeared for months. Only by great good fortune had Terry found
him, wandering in, through a blizzard, from the Pike's Peak gold fields;
and had brought him home in time for a merry Christmas.
"Not 'again.' Don't know as I'd call it gold-fever, exactly. But I feel
a bit like Terry does--I want to join the crowd. It was the same way, in
coming to Kansas. We thought this was to be the West; and now there's
another West. This ranch can be made to pay--I'm certain it can if we're
able to hold on long enough and weather the droughts and grasshoppers
and low prices. But----"
"Harry and Terry and I made it pay," reminded Mother Richards, with a
flash of pride.
"Yes, you all did bravely. But you managed it by cutting and selling the
timber. The timber won't last forever, and the grasshoppers may! This is
rather a lonely life, for you, yet, up in here. Out at the mountains,
though, they've founded those two towns, Denver and Auraria, and
probably others; and I believe opportunities will be more there than
here."
"Do you intend to sell the ranch?" asked Mrs. Richards, a little pale.
She loved the ranch, which she had helped to make.
"We'll talk that over. I wouldn't sell unless you consented. It's your
place; you and Terry and Harry've done most of the work."
"But you said I could go right away, Pa; didn't you?" enthused Terry.
"Then I'll take the wagon and Buck and Spot, and Shep--and Harry;
and----"
"Hold on," bade his father. "Not quite so fast. I said you're to find
your own outfit. If we sell the ranch, you'll have to leave part of it
as a sample to show to customers. Those oxen are valuable. Oxen'll be as
good as gold, in this country. The rush across the plains will sweep up
every kind of work critter. If you take Buck and Spot, how'll anybody on
this ranch do the ploughing? And if you take the wagon, what'll become
of the hauling?"
"And if you take Harry, who'll help your father and me?" chimed in his
mother.
"Shucks!" bemoaned Terry. "There's the old mare, and the colt--and a
cow--and----"
"And a half-buffalo, and a tame turkey, and a yellow mule twenty years
of age if she's a day," completed his father. "Buck and Spot beat the
lot of them put together. No, sir; I'll not spare those oxen, for any
wild-goose chase across to the mountains. But I'll tell you what you can
do. You can have Harry, and find the rest of your come-along."
"Hum!" murmured Harry, who had been scratching his nose and looking
wise. "That sounds like a dare. Let's go outside, Terry."
He rose. Terry wonderingly followed him. Within, Mother Richards gazed
dubiously upon Father Richards.
"Are you really in earnest, Ralph?"
"Yes; after a fashion. Terry can't make such a trip alone; he's too
young; but he'd be safe with Harry. Enough cultivating's done on the
ranch so I can manage for the next few months. That would give you and
me a chance to dispose of the place when we were ready--and it will sell
better with the crops showing. And besides, I agree with you that I'm
not quite in shape yet to stand the trip. By the time we were free to
go, those two boys would have the country yonder pretty well spied out,
and they'd send us back reliable information. Harry has a level head."
"And maybe they'd be so disappointed they'd want to come back,
themselves!" hopefully asserted Mrs. Richards. "Terry'd be cured of his
gold-seeking fever. Anyway, they haven't gone, yet. They can't have the
oxen, and they can't have my cow, and if they took the old mare how'd I
ever visit my neighbors, and if they took the colt he's not heavy enough
for hard work, and the yellow mule won't pull alone, and Duke won't pull
at all, and you've refused them the wagon--and I sha'n't let them walk.
So I don't believe I'll worry."
"Um--m!" muttered Father Richards, rubbing his hair. "I won't be
positive about all that. What Terry doesn't cook up, Harry will. They're
both of them too uncommon smart. I reckon they're into some scheme
already."
And so they were. He resumed his reading of the papers. Mrs. Richards
proceeded to finish the evening housework. Suddenly they were
interrupted. Outside welled a frantic chorus of shouting and cheering
and barking and clattering.
"For goodness' sake!" ejaculated Mrs. Richards; and they sprang to the
door.
Harry, who walked with a slight limp because when a boy down in Virginia
he had hurt his foot, had beckoned Terry on, around the hen-house, out
of ear-shot of the cabin. Here he had paused, and scratched his long
nose again--a sure sign of mischief. Slender and smooth-faced and young
was Harry, but stronger than anybody'd think. The way he could ride
bareback, and could fell timber--whew! And that long head of his was a
mine in itself.
"Shall we go?" he queried.
"Will you, Harry? Do you want to go?"
"Yes, I reckon I do. I always knew I was cut out for a miner instead of
a schoolmaster or a farmer."
"How'll we go, then?" demanded Terry. "Thunder! We've nothing to start
with, 'cept our feet. Dad says we'll have to find our own outfit."
"And one of the feet's a bad one," commented Harry. "I suppose we
_could_ walk, and carry our stuff--or carry part of it and come back for
the rest."
"Five hundred miles?" cried Terry. "Aw, jiminy! We'd be the last in, if
we tried to carry stuff on our backs."
"And we'd be the first out, if we didn't carry stuff," returned Harry.
"We'd be frozen out and starved out, both. Now, let's see." He scratched
his nose, and was solemn--save that his pointed chin twitched, and his
wide brown eyes laughed. "We can't have the oxen; and we mustn't take
the old mare or the colt, because they're a part of the ranch; or the
brindled cow, because she belongs to Mother Richards' butter and milk
department; or Pete the turkey, because he can't swim; so that leaves us
Jenny and Duke."
"That old yellow mule, and a half-buffalo!" yapped Terry. "But they're a
part of the ranch stock, too, and besides----"
"No, they're ours," corrected Harry. "Jenny's mine, and I'm hers. I
brought her in here--or, rather, she brought me in; in fact, we brought
each other. And Duke is yours. You rescued him from a life among the
wild buffalo--a rough, low life, the ungrateful brute!--and his mother's
disowned him since he learned to eat grass and hay, and nobody else
wants him. Jenny works for her keep, but he doesn't do a thing except
bawl and eat and sleep and pick quarrels with his betters. He's only an
idle good-for-nothing."
"What do you aim to do, then?" questioned Terry, staring open-mouthed.
"Ride 'em? We can't have the wagon. You going to ride Jenny and make me
ride Duke? We'd both of us be split in two! I'd rather walk. I'd make
great time, wouldn't I, on that buffalo--and Jenny mostly moves up and
down in one spot! Your saddle's falling to pieces. It's just tied with
rope."
"Hum!" mused Harry. "We'll hitch them."
"What to?"
"A wagon. I know where there are two wheels and an axle."
"Where?"
"In an old mud-hole. The front end traveled on, but the hind end
stayed."
"Jenny won't pull single, and Duke won't pull at all."
"Make 'em pull together, then."
"What'll we do for the rest of the wagon?"
"Make it."
"Huh!" reflected Terry, trying to be convinced. "That'll be a great
outfit. Where'll we get our supplies?"
"Maybe somebody'll grub-stake us, on shares. But no matter about that.
We'll learn not to eat when we haven't anything to eat. If," continued
Harry, "a couple of fellows our size, with a yellow mule and a
half-buffalo and two wagon-wheels, can't get through to the mountains,
I'd like to know who can! So it's high time we started. Come on."
"What are you going to do first?" demanded Terry, bewildered by Harry's
sudden movement.
"Educate Duke, of course. We'll put him and Jenny to the drag and give
them their first lesson. You be driving Duke in and I'll talk with
Jenny."
Away hustled Harry, at his rapid limp, for a halter and Jenny, where in
a stall she was munching a feed of hay as reward after her trip to town.
With the interested Shep (shaggy black dog) at his heels, prepared to
help, Terry hastened into the pasture and rounded up Duke, the
half-buffalo, from amidst the other animals. Duke was now a
yearling--grown to be a sturdy, stocky youngster since Terry had
captured him and his brindled cow mother during the buffalo hunt with
the Delaware Indians last summer.
Knowing Terry well, and tamed to everything except work, Duke submitted
to being driven out. In the ranch yard Harry was waiting with big, gaunt
Jenny, already attached by collar and traces to the drag. The drag was
only an old rail, heavy and spike-studded, used to uproot the brush when
the ranch land was cleared.
It required considerable maneuvering to fit an ox-bow around Duke's
short neck, and yoke him to the drag. He seemed dumbly astonished. Jenny
laid back her long ears in disgust with her strange mate.
"Be patient with him, Jenny," pleaded Harry. "He's only a boy, and part
Indian, while you're a cultured lady. I think," he said, to Terry, "that
I'll do the driving, for the first spell on this Pike's Peak trail."
Holding the lines attached to Jenny's bit (but Duke, ox-fashion, had no
lines), he fell a few paces to rear. "No," he added, "that won't answer.
You drive Duke and I'll drive Jenny. Get your whip."
Terry stationed himself with the ox-whip at Duke's flank. Harry stepped
upon the drag, and balanced.
"Gid-dap, Jenny!" he bade.
"G'lang, Duke!" bade Terry.
Jenny, sidling as far as she could in the traces, her ears flat,
started. Duke stayed. Consequently, Jenny did not get very far.
"Duke! G'lang, Duke!" implored Terry, desperately, cracking his whip.
"Pull, Jenny! Pull!" encouraged Harry, balancing on the drag now askew.
Up went Jenny's heels, down went Duke's head, away went Harry on the
drag and Terry on the run. Shep, thinking it great sport, barked gaily.
"Whoa, Jenny! Whoa now!"
"Haw, Duke! Whoa-haw! Gee! Whoa!"
And from the cabin doorway Father Richards clapped and shouted, and
Mother Richards called warnings.
Harry was speedily thrown from the bouncing drag, but he clung to the
lines. Having careered, plunging and tugging and side-stepping, until
she was astraddle of the outside trace, Jenny stopped. Duke, who had
been bawling and galloping, half hauled, half frightened, stopped
likewise, the yoke crooked on his neck; and all stood heaving.
"This'll never do," panted Harry. "Jenny's too fast for him--either her
legs are too long or his are too short. We'll have to train them singly
and hitch them tandem. That's it: tandem."
"You mean one in front of the other?" wheezed Terry.
"Yes."
"Which where, then?"
"Oh, Jenny for the wheel team and Duke for the lead team, I think,"
decided Harry. "By rights, Jenny ought to have the lead, because she's
faster; and Duke ought to have the pole, because he's heavier. But Jenny
is quick-tempered with her heels, you know, and Duke is quick-tempered
with his head, so we'd best keep their tempers separated. We can teach
Duke to 'haw' and 'gee,' but Jenny's main accomplishment is simply to
'haw-haw.'"
"Here comes George," announced Terry. "Now he'll 'haw-haw,' too."
Through the gloaming another boy was loping in, on a spotted pony. He
was a wiry, black-eyed boy--George Stanton, from the Stanton ranch some
two miles down the valley.
"Whoop-ee! Which way you going?" he challenged. "What is it--a show?"
"Going to Pike's Peak," retorted Terry.
"Tonight? With that team? Aw----!"
"Pretty soon, though. We're practising."
"Watch us, and you'll see us drive to the corral," invited Harry. "Let's
turn 'em around, Terry. Easy, now. I'll hold Jenny back and you hurry
Duke."
"I'll help," proffered the obliging George. "Gwan, Duke."
"Duke! Gwan!" ordered Terry.
"Whoa, Jenny! Steady, Jenny!" cautioned Harry.
With Harry hauling on the lines, George, pony-back, pressing against
Duke's shoulder, and Terry urging him at the flank, they all managed to
achieve a half circle. Duke, his eyes bulging with rage and alarm,
occasionally balked; Jenny flattened her ears and shook her scarred
head; but finally the corral bars were really reached. It seemed like
quite a victory.
"First lesson ended," decreed Harry. "Too dark, and we're tired if they
aren't. We'll put 'em in together and they can talk it over."
Released into the corral, neither Jenny nor Duke appeared to be in very
good humor. Duke rumbled and pawed, flinging the dirt; Jenny laid her
ears and bared her teeth. Suddenly Duke charged; whereat Jenny nimbly
whirled, and met him with both hind hoofs. Aside staggered Duke, to
stand a moment, glaring at her and rumbling; then he turned and stalked
stiffly to the other end of the enclosure. Jenny "hee-hawed" shrill and
derisive, and kneeling down, rolled and kicked; scrambled up, shook
herself, and began to nose about for husks.
"Now they understand each other," remarked Harry. "They've agreed to
pull singly."
"Say--are you fellows really going to Pike's Peak?" asked George. "With
that team?"
"Yes, sir-ee. We're in training, aren't we, Terry?" responded Harry.
"That's right. Dad said if we'd find our own outfit we could strike
out."
"We've got the fever, too, sort of, down at our house," confessed
George. "That's what I rode up about. Now I guess I'd better go back and
tell the folks. Maybe I can join you," he added, waxing excited.
"The more the merrier. That will make twenty-five thousand and three,"
laughed Harry.
"If I can't, I'll be coming later," called back George.
"We'll locate a claim for you," promised Terry, grandly--as if he and
Harry were already on the way.