THE "PIKE'S PEAK LIMITED"
"I'll tell you what I'll do," spoke Terry's father, finally. "I'll lend
you $100--'grub-stake' you, as they say, from the dust that I fetched
back last winter. That's half. And I'm to have half interest in whatever
you find."
"Hum! This sounds like a good business proposition, if you mean it,"
accepted Harry, scratching his nose.
"Do you mean it, Dad?" cried Terry, overjoyed. "Supposing we find your
mine. Do we get half of that?"
"That's part yours, anyway. But I don't think you'll find it unoccupied.
Doubt if you find it at all. You'll likely meet up with some of the
Russell brothers out there, though. You might ask Green Russell or
Oliver or the doctor if they have any recollection of my being along
with 'em, one of their Fifty-eighters, by name of Jones, and if they
remember where I got the dust. Yes, I mean it: you and Harry'll need
supplies, and you ought to have a little cash in hand besides."
"But we can go to digging gold, the first day we get there, can't we?"
argued Terry.
"You might be a bit awkward and break a pick or shovel, and want a new
one," remarked his father, drily.
Anyway, the $100 was not to be sneezed at. To be sure, Harry, with Terry
assisting, had proceeded right ahead making ready. He was a wonder, was
Harry. He had brought the two wagon-wheels from the mud-hole, and (Terry
helping) had constructed a two-wheeled cart: had fitted a shallow body
on the axle-tree and attached a pair of long heavy shafts. Jenny was to
haul in the shafts, and the chains of Duke were to be run back to stout
eye-bolts.
"You see," reasoned Harry, "some days when Jenny is tired and wishes to
stop, Duke will be pulling the cart and she'll have to come along
whether or no."
Jenny's collar and Duke's wooden bow and single yoke (manufactured to
suit the case, from cast-off materials) were rough and ready, but no
worse than the rest of the harness. However, on the whole Harry was
rather proud of his work, and Terry was rather proud of Harry. Just now
they were engaged in stretching a canvas hood over the cart.
As for Jenny, the yellow mule, and Duke, the half-buffalo--their days,
of late, had been exciting ones. While they were being trained to haul
tandem the ranch yard had resembled a circus-ring, much to the alarm of
Terry's mother, and to the entertainment of Terry's father and the
Stantons.
George and Virgie (who was his little sister) came up, whenever they
could, to watch the preparation; and Mr. Stanton was considerably
interested, himself. But George was more than interested; he was
roundly sceptical--also, as anybody might see, envious.
"Aw, you don't think you're ever going to get there with that
contraption, do you?" he challenged. "A rickety old cart, and an old
mule and a half-buffalo! You'll bust down."
"I'd rather bust down than bust up," retorted Terry.
"It'll take you a year. Look at how your wheels wobble." And George
added, somewhat oddly: "Wish I was going."
"If it'll take us a year, you might as well wait and come on with your
own folks later," reminded Harry. "You'll probably travel in style, and
pass us."
"That's right," hopefully answered George. "We'll pass you during the
summer. You see if we don't."
"Said the hare to the tortoise," gibed Harry. "Terry and Jenny and Duke
and I may be slow, but we're powerful sure--if our wheels keep turning."
He picked up a tar-pot and a stick, and stepped to the cart, on which
the hood at last had been stretched.
"What you going to do now?"
"Don't hurry me," drawled Harry. "This isn't a hurry outfit." On the
canvas he drew a letter. "What's that, Virgie?"
"'P'!"
"Right. And what's this?"
"'I'!"
"You're a smart girl--a smarter girl than your brother," praised Harry.
"Next?"
"'K'!"
"Next?"
"'E'!"
"Next?"
"A--comma!" declared Virgie.
"Oh, pshaw!" deplored Harry. "You go to the foot." And he finished the
word: "PIKE'S." He stepped back to admire the result.
"Pike's Peak or Bust! That's what you ought to put on," yelped George.
"Pike's Peak or Bust! There was a wagon went down the valley yesterday
with that on it. And it had four wheels instead of two."
"'Pike's Peak and No Bust,' is our motto," corrected Harry. He daubed
rapidly, until the words stood: "PIKE'S PEAK LIMITED."
"I guess you're 'limited,'" sniggered George. "Anyway," he confessed,
loyally, "wish I was going with you. I'll trade you my pistol for a
share in your mine if you find one."
"That old pistol with a wooden hammer?" scoffed Terry. "You come on out
and we'll give you a whole mine, maybe, if we have more than we can
work!"
"I'll cook for you," piped Virgie.
"All right, Virgie," quoth Harry. "George can shoot buffalo with his
pistol, and you can cook all he gets! You be ready tomorrow early, and
we'll take you aboard on our way down."
"Do you start tomorrow?" blurted George.
"Sure thing," asserted Terry. "Stop at Manhattan, is all, to get
supplies. Then we hit the trail for the land of gold."
The painting of "PIKE'S PEAK LIMITED" had indeed been the final touch.
The start was set for the next morning immediately after breakfast.
That evening in the cabin they all tried to be merry and hopeful, but
Terry went to bed in the loft, where he and Harry slept, with a lump in
his throat after his mother's goodnight hug and kiss; and although he
dreamed exciting dreams of a marvelously quick trip and a row of
mountains blotched with precious yellow, he awakened to the same curious
lump.
But Harry hustled about briskly, before breakfast, to feed and water
Jenny and Duke. Harry was always the first out.
"Gold, gold, gold, gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold,"
he declaimed. "Eh, Jenny? Or should I say:
"Jenny, Jenny! All pure gold!
Bright and yellow and hard to hold!"
So Terry aided by carrying the stuff out, to be stowed in the cart.
After breakfast there was no delay. Presently Jenny and Duke stood
harnessed tandem, and rather wondering at the decisive manner with which
they were handled. They little knew that six hundred miles lay before
them.
"All aboard for Pike's Peak!" announced Harry. "You're to walk behind,
Terry, for a piece, and pick up the wheels if they drop off. I'll
encourage Duke and Jenny not to look back. Good-bye, folks."
"Good-bye, Mother. Good-bye, Father," repeated Terry. "Come on, Shep.
You're going. Of course!"
Shep gamboled and barked. He was going and he did not care where, if
only he went.
"We'll follow, in a month or two--as soon as we sell the place," called
Father Richards. "We and the Stantons, too, I guess. Get posted on the
country, and be careful. Good luck. Look up the Russells."
"Yes, be very careful," enjoined Mother Richards. "Don't get lost, and
don't sleep in wet clothes, and don't fail to send word back often, and,
Terry, don't disobey Harry, and, Harry, don't you try to perform all the
work, and, both of you, don't have any disputes or quarrel with
_any_body, and don't omit to eat hearty meals----"
"Oh, Mother Richards!" laughed Harry. "This is a _Do_ concern, not a
_Don't_. But we'll remember. You'll find us ready to trade you our gold
dust for a pan of good corn-bread. Good-bye. Gee-up, Duke! Step ahead,
Jenny! Whoop-ee! G'lang!"
"Whoop-ee!" cheered Terry, stanchly, as now he trudged in the wake of
the creaking, lurching cart. "Hooray for the Pike's Peak Limited to the
gold mines!"
They were on their way; they were real gold-seekers, bound for the
Pike's Peak country. In his cow-hide boots and red flannel shirt and
slouch hat, Terry felt that no one should make fun of their
rough-and-ready outfit. A half-buffalo, and a yellow mule, and a
two-wheeled cart with a regular prairie-schooner hood, and a tar-pot
hanging to the axle, indicated serious purpose.
Black Shep loped happily from side to side, hunting through the weeds.
At the "near" or left of Jenny strode Harry, with a slight limp, a
willow pole in his hand to serve for occasionally touching up Duke.
Harry also wore cow-hide boots, trousers tucked in, and a battered
slouch hat, but a gray shirt instead of blue or red. However, a red
'kerchief for a tie gave him a natty appearance.
"Duke! Hi! Step along!" he urged. And--"Not so fast, Jenny!" he
cautioned. Duke pulled steadily, keeping the chains fairly tight; Jenny,
her ears wobbling, but now and then laid back in protest at one thing or
another, slothfully dragged her long legs. Together they easily twitched
the lightly laden cart over the rutted road.
George and Virgie were waiting in front of the Stanton ranch, to see the
gold-seekers pass. Mrs. Stanton waved from the ranch-house door, and Mr.
Stanton from the potato field.
"Where are your guns?" demanded George, first crack, much as if he had
expected to see them heavily armed on this peaceful trail down to
Manhattan.
"Got a shot-gun in the cart," answered Terry.
"How'll you fight Injuns, then? Where are your mining tools--picks and
spades and things?"
"Get 'em later."
"Coming, Virgie?" hailed Harry.
Her finger in her mouth, Virgie shook her head in its pink sunbonnet.
"I can't. My mother needs me."
"All right. Sorry. We need a cook. Duke! What are you stopping for?
Gwan! Hump along, Jenny!" And to creak of top and jangle of fry-pan and
tin plates and cups, and water bucket clashing with tar pot, the Pike's
Peak Limited pressed on.
"We'll see you later, though," promised George, gazing after wistfully.
"Good-bye."
"Good-bye, George."
All down the valley people called and waved good-bye, for the word that
the "Richards boys" were going to Pike's Peak had traveled ahead. And
many a joke was leveled at Duke and Jenny and the two-wheeled cart
bearing its Pike's Peak sign. But who cared? Everybody seemed bent upon
following as soon as possible; and as Harry remarked: "We're doing
instead of talking!"
Manhattan town was a day and a half, at walking gait.
"No ranch house for us tonight," quoth Harry. "We'll start right in
making our own camp. And we'll have to start in with a system, too.
First we'll noon, for an hour, to rest the animals--not to mention
ourselves. My feet are about one hundred and ten degrees hot, already.
And we'll make camp every evening at six o'clock. If we don't travel by
system we'll wear out. There's nothing like regularity."
So they nooned beside a creek; had lunch and let Duke and Jenny drink
and graze. That evening, promptly, they camped, near water. Harry had
elected to do the cooking and dish-washing, Terry was to forage for fuel
and tend to the animals.
Jenny was staked out for fear that she would take the notion to amble
back to the ranch. Duke, who appeared to think much more of her than she
did of him, could be depended upon to stay wherever she stayed. Harry
boiled coffee, and fried bacon, and there was the batch of bread that
Mother Richards had baked for the first stages of the journey.
When everything had been tidied up and the camp was ship-shape, in the
dusk they "bedded down," each to his coverings. Whew, but it felt good
to shed those hot boots! They also removed their trousers, and used them
and their coats for pillows.
Harry sighed with luxury.
"First camp--twelve miles from home," he said.
"Wonder how many camps we'll make before we get there," proposed Terry.
"Some forty, I reckon," murmured Harry. "Six hundred miles at an average
of fifteen miles a day--and there you are. But we have to make only one
camp at a time."
"Hello!" cried a voice, through the dusk.
Shep growled, where he was curled, but instantly flopped his tail, and
with a quick look in the direction of the voice, Harry called, gladly:
"Hello yourself. Come in."
"Hello, Sol," welcomed Terry.
They sat up in their blankets. A horseman approached along the back
trail, and halted. He was a lean, well-built man, with long hair and
full beard, and sat erect upon a small but active horse. He wore a
peaked, silver-bound sombrero or Mexican hat, a black velvet Mexican
jacket half revealed under a gaily striped blanket over his shoulders,
tight black velvet trousers slashed with a white strip, and on his heels
jingling spurs. The saddle was enormous, and the bridle jingly and
silver-mounted. But he was no Mexican; he was Sol Judy, the American
horse-trader, who had been in California and on the plains, and was
counted as almost the very first friend made by Terry and his mother
when they had started in to "ranch it," a year ago, while waiting for
Mr. Richards to come home. And a very good friend Sol Judy had remained.
"How's the Pike's Peak Limited by this time?" he queried, with a smile,
as he sat looking down. "On the way to the elephant, are you, and as
snug as a bug in a rug?"
"'Light, 'light," bade Harry. "Have a cup of coffee, Sol. Wait till I
put on my pants."
"No, no; thank you," declined Sol. "I've eaten and I'm going on
through." It seemed as though Sol was always bound somewhere else. "I
passed the ranch and stopped off a minute, and they told me you'd gone.
So I knew I'd probably catch you. I'm on my way, myself."
"To the mines, Sol?"
"Yes, sir-ee. Just got back; been in Leavenworth a short spell, and am
headed west again, for more of the elephant."
"What elephant?"
Sol laughed.
"The big show. 'Seeing the elephant,' they call it, now, when they set
out for the Pike's Peak diggin's--because there are folks who don't
believe there is any such critter."
"Did you see him, Sol?"
"Well, you know we've seen a goose-quill or two containing a few
freckles from his hide."
"What trail's the best?" queried Harry.
"I went out by the Santy Fee Trail and came back by the Platte
government trail. But those are too long for you. I hear tell a lot of
people are going to try the trail straight west, up the Smoky Hill. If I
were you, though, I wouldn't tackle that. The water peters out. You'd do
better to cut northwest from Riley or Junction City, over the divide
between the Solomon and the Republican, and strike the Republican. Jones
and Russell, the Leavenworth freighters, are going to put on a line of
stages by that route, and they know what they're about. They've surveyed
a route already, and I shouldn't wonder if you'd find some of their
stakes. Anyway, the stages'll overtake you, and then you'll have their
tracks and stations. On the divide you'll keep to the high ground and
head the creeks and save a lot of trouble. Always travel high; that's my
notion. The fellows that try to follow the brush river-bottoms are the
ones who get stuck. You may have to make one or two dry marches, but you
can keep your water cask full."
"What's doing out at the mines, Sol?"
"Doing? There were about two hundred people there when I left. They'd
had a nice mild winter; only one cold snap at Christmas. They're all
collected at Cherry Creek; they've started two towns opposite each
other, near where the creek joins the Platte. The one on the west side
the creek they've called Auraria; the one on the east side was St.
Charles for a time, but now it's named Denver, after Governor Denver of
Kansas Territory. Auraria's the bigger, to date. What it'll be in a
month or two, can't tell. That's where they're all living, anyhow: in
Auraria and Denver. S'pose you've read in the papers that last fall they
held a meeting and set off the Pike's Peak country as 'Arapahoe County'
of Kansas, elected a delegate to the Kansas legislature, and another to
go to Washington and get the government to let 'em be organized as a new
separate Territory. He hasn't done much, though. Congress won't listen
to him. It's all too sudden. Proof of the elephant hadn't reached there
yet."
"Are they digging lots of gold, Sol?" asked Terry, eagerly.
"You could put all the gold I saw in two hands," declared Sol. "It's
mostly color, and flake gold washed from the creeks. They haven't got
down to real mining, and some of the people who counted on an easy time
at getting rich quick are plumb disgusted. What's been done since I left
I can't say. But the gold's in the mountains, and it'll take work to dig
it out."
"How far are the mountains from the towns? How far's Pike's Peak, Sol?"
demanded Terry.
"The real mountains are about forty miles, I judge; and that Pike's Peak
we're all hearing of is near a hundred. 'Cherry Creek' diggin's is a
heap better name for the place than 'Pike's Peak.' Pike's Peak is away
down south and there aren't any mines there, yet. Well, how's your
outfit behaving? Does the mule pull with the buffalo?"
"First-rate," answered Harry. "They're used to each other."
"That's good. Usually a mule's got no love for a buffalo. You want to
watch out when you get into the buffalo country or you'll have trouble,
sure, with one or the other of your critters. And I'd advise you to peg
along as fast as you can and keep ahead of the crowd or there won't be a
piece of fuel left as large as a match, to cook with."
"Jiminy! That sounds like a rush," exclaimed Harry. "Then what the
papers say is true--about twenty-five thousand people."
"Twenty-five thousand!" laughed Sol. "I've been at Leavenworth, and
Kansas City too, and every steamer from the south is loaded to the
stacks. You can't see the steamers for the people! Those two cities are
regular camps--streets jammed, merchants selling tons of supplies,
wagons and critters hardly to be bought for love or money, and the
country around white with wagons and tents of folks making
ready--waiting for a start. Same way up at Council Bluffs, where the
crossing is from Iowa into Nebraska to strike the Platte River Trail. In
a month the Platte Trail will be so thick you can walk clear from the
Missouri to the mountains on the tops of the prairie schooners. So you
do well to peg along early. The rush is begun." Sol reined up his horse,
preparing to leave. "Good luck to you, boys. I'll see you at the
mines."
"We've got one waiting for us, maybe, you know, Sol," reminded Terry.
"And--"
"All right," answered Harry. "We'll see you in the land of the elephant,
anyway. So long."
And Sol galloped south, into the darkness.