READY FOR BIG BUSINESS, BUT * * * !
When after breakfast they started out, "for (as Harry said) the latest
wrinkles in getting rich quick," the gulch was already astir and at
work. And a busy, inspiring sight it was, alive from side to side and
apparently from end to end with cabins, completed or begun, some
plank-roofed, some roofed with pine boughs; with dug-outs, tents,
wagons, oxen, mules, and with men digging, burrowing, toiling at spade
and pick, squatting over gold-pans, or manipulating the boxes set on
rockers, while the few women were attending to dishes or hanging out the
family washing.
"Washing $3 a dozen," announced a sign in front of one tent.
The gulch was long and broken, and of course not half the sights were to
be seen from any one point.
"Let's walk up a piece, first," suggested Harry.
So they did, in confident manner. Only day before yesterday they had
come in as tenderfeet--not knowing a thing and not owning a foot of
ground. Now they were regular residents, actual miners, with a paying
claim and a cabin, and might hold up their heads. The very dirt on their
clothes proclaimed their rank. Terry felt like a wealthy citizen.
The man who evidently owned the claim next above theirs paused to greet
them. He was another young man, with a blond beard, and a smile that
disclosed white even teeth, and although he was roughly dressed in
ragged red flannel shirt, belted trousers and heavy cow-hide boots, his
chest, showing under his shirt, which was open at the throat, was very
white, and now as he rested his foot upon his spade and shoved back his
slouch hat, his forehead also was very white.
"How are you, neighbors?" he accosted. "Made your pile yet?"
"No, sir," promptly responded Harry. "But it's right there waiting for
us. All we've done is a little panning, and with proper development work
we've got a bonanza."
"We sure have," supported Terry. "We panned out five dollars in color,
first thing. But that's too slow."
The man smiled good-humoredly.
"You're in luck, then." He wiped his brow. "I haven't seen my color yet,
but I suppose it's around in here somewhere. Anyway, I'm getting plenty
of exercise. We're all crazy together. I expect I'm as crazy as the
rest. You know what Virgil says--_facilis decensus Averni_, eh?" and he
eyed Harry inquiringly. "Did you find that so?"
"'Easy is the descent to Avernus,' eh?" translated Harry. "Hum! Well, we
did come down in here at a good gait. How we'll get out again is a
question. But you must be a college man."
"Yes, and also a preacher. 'Whom the gods destroy they first make mad'
is another favorite reflection of mine, among these diggin's. Are you a
college man, too?"
"Yes; University of Virginia."
"I'm Yale. Glad to meet you. Well, it's a great place--all kinds of us
jumbled and digging and sweating, talking gold and eating gold and
dreaming gold, when most of us could accomplish more and make more where
we came from."
"I reckon the thing we don't know how to do always looks easier than the
thing we do know how to do," reasoned Harry.
"Exactly. But where are you bound for?"
"We're going to put in improvements," spoke Terry. "Do you know where we
can get a sluice?"
"Make it, if you can buy the lumber. But you'll have to stand in line
and grab the boards as fast as they fall from the saw. By the way, you
don't object to my using that water, do you? I'm not certain whether
it's on your land or mine; it's pretty nearly between, as I figure."
"We thought it was on our side, but use all you want, certainly,"
replied Harry.
They left the preacher to his digging and proceeded.
The farther they went up the gulch, the more intense seemed the fever
for work, and the thicker the camps and people. Yes, and there was gold,
too! Three men were operating a "rocker." This was one of those wooden
boxes on rockers like a cradle; one man shoveled in dirt, another poured
in water, a third rocked the box from side to side, and the water and
dirt flowed out through a slot at the lower end.
The Golden Prize proprietors halted to watch. When the water and dirt
had escaped, in the bottom of the box were to be seen several cleats
nailed across, and caught against these cleats was gold! The men figured
that there was eight dollars' worth right there!
Up here were a few sluices, too: the long troughs, also with cleats
nailed across the bottom inside, to catch the gold as the water and dirt
flowed over. Into some of the sluices water had to be poured by hand,
but others led from streams and the water flowed through without having
been dipped. The shorter sluices were called "Long Toms."
"That's what we want," decided Harry. "A regular sluice, running right
across our claim."
"There's the wheel-barrow man!" exclaimed Terry.
And so it was, standing in front of a tent which bore the sign, "W. N.
Byers. The Rocky Mountain News," and nearby was a stake and a sign:
"Central City."
They shook hands with the wheel-barrow man.
"What's this?" demanded Harry. "A town?"
"Yes, sir! Mr. Byers has named it. It's the best location. Right in the
middle of the Gulch."
"Is he going to stay here?"
"Nope; but he's pushing things along. What's happened to you boys? You
look as if you'd been prospecting."
"We have," laughed Harry. "Haven't you?"
"Yes, a little." And he suddenly called: "Hello, John. What's the matter
down there?"
"They've got wind of another strike," answered the man, striding on. He
was a black-bearded man, and seemed very busy.
"That's John Gregory himself," explained the wheel-barrow man. "The
original boomer of this gulch. But watch the people pile out, will you!"
"Yes; there's a big strike south of here, I understand," from the
doorway of his tent spoke Mr. Byers himself: a stocky, pleasant-faced
man, with a close-trimmed brown beard. The diggin's had as great a
variety of beards and whiskers as it had of people.
So he was the pioneer newspaper man, was he--the man who had brought a
printing-press, and a stock of paper already printed on one side at
Omaha, clear from the Missouri River to Cherry Creek. But Terry was
given scant opportunity to stare. Harry clutched him by the sleeve:
"Come on, quick! I've got an idea."
Away they hastened, back down the gulch. Before, at the lower end, the
confusion was increasing. Outfits were hurrying away--drivers swinging
their lashes, men footing fast; camps were breaking, and on their claims
miners and prospectors were shouldering pick and spade and pack and
hastening after the procession now crossing the creek.
The movement spread up the gulch, communicated from camp to camp and
claim to claim.
"What'll we do? Get more land?" puffed Terry.
"No, no."
But the lower end of the gulch was not by any means deserted, as they
arrived. It was mainly the frothy overflow that had bubbled out, and
when the eddy had settled there appeared to be almost as many people as
before. Even the claims which had been abandoned were being quickly
re-occupied. However, Harry dashed to one man who had packed up and on
his cabin was tacking a sign: "Keep Off!" while his partner waited.
"Going to leave?"
"Mebbe so. Want to buy this claim? She's a humdinger."
"No. But I'll buy your sluice. How'll you sell it?"
"That sluice? Seventy-five dollars."
"Whew!"
"It's forty feet long, of three boards; that means 120 feet, and
lumber's $300 a thousand feet and you have to put in your order a week
ahead. With the props and the cleats and the nails there's over $40 of
material in that sluice, and I reckon the labor of hauling and building
is wuth the balance."
"I'll give you $50," snapped Harry.
"Sold. But hurry up. We can't wait long here to sell a sluice. There's
too much doing 'round the corner."
Harry fished out three gold pieces--two twenties and a ten--and passed
them over.
"Better take it off this property quick or somebody else will," advised
the man; and away he and his partner strode, for the strike in Bobtail
Gulch just across a little divide south.
"Lucky again!" jubilated Harry--who, Terry saw, had been smart. "Cost a
lot of money, but we couldn't have made it much cheaper ourselves and
we'd have been held up waiting for boards. You sit on it while I go for
Jenny. We haul the whole thing at once."
"Maybe we could have got it for nothing, after they'd left," proposed
Terry, with an eye to the general grab-all as various persons swarmed
over the abandoned claims.
"It wasn't ours, was it?" retorted Harry. "But it is now." And he left
at a fast limp.
He returned with Jenny, harnessed, and they triumphantly dragged away
the sluice, carrying also the scissors props on which it had rested. Its
joints indeed threatened to part, but by picking their path they arrived
with it intact at the Golden Prize.
Their preacher neighbor greeted them with a wave of hand and came over
to inspect.
"Looks as though you were going right into business," he asserted. "I
thought maybe you'd join the rush for Bobtail."
"No, sir; we stick," assured Harry. "A bird in the hand's worth two in
the bush."
"Well, depends on the bird," answered the preacher. "Now, my bird's an
old crow, I'm afraid, and if I could see a fat turkey in the bush I'd
drop my crow pretty quick, like those other fellows."
After dinner Harry rather ruefully examined his money belt. It was flat
and limp.
"Ten dollars left," he said.
"And our dust, you know," reminded Terry. "We've the five dollars we
washed out, and we can wash out more whenever we want it."
Harry brightened.
"That's right. We're rich. You can try panning again, this afternoon,
and I'll go down to the grocery and lay in provisions and any other
stuff we'll need, and then we can set up the sluice and pile up the
gold. Get to have everything running before Father Richards and that
George Stanton come in."
"We can buy a claim for them, too," proposed Terry. "Or find one that's
been left."
"No crows," corrected Harry. "Turkeys only."
Terry went at his panning with enthusiasm, bound to make a showing.
Panning was slow, but it was rather exciting because there always was
liable to be something yellow right under your eye, if you looked close
enough. Panning was a one-man job; you did it all yourself.
The preacher strolled over to watch.
"How's the dirt paying now?" he queried.
"Pretty good. I've found _some_ more," truthfully answered Terry. "About
a dollar's worth, I guess."
"A pinch, eh? How'd you like to take over my claim?"
"Haven't any money yet. I mean, we won't have money till we get the
sluice to going."
"I'll tell you what I'll do," proffered the preacher. "Just to make the
transaction binding, I'll sell you the claim for your next pan.
Preaching is my business, not mining, you see. If you buy my claim, then
nobody can accuse you of jumping it."
"All right," accepted Terry.
"Play fair, now," laughed the professor. "Take your dirt from a good
rich spot."
Spots looked mainly all alike to Terry. The hole where he had been
digging was laying bare the hard rock, but he scraped up a quantity of
dirt and loose splinters from a crevice----
"You're giving me principally rock, aren't you?" criticized the
preacher, good-naturedly. "But let it go. I'll be game."
However, as the pan cleared and Terry threw aside the splinters, they
both exclaimed. Yellow was plainly visible--and moreover there was a
blackish, cindery fragment the size of a crushed hazel-nut that glinted
and weighed suspiciously as Terry lingered in the act of tossing it away
also.
"Here! Hold on!" And the preacher took it. "Nugget, isn't it? Fifteen or
twenty dollars, I'll wager--and ten dollars more in flakes!"
"That's a rich pan, boys, as I reckon," interrupted a voice, accompanied
by crunching footsteps and a growl from Shep.
The speaker was a miner over six feet tall and broad in proportion--a
veritable giant of a man, in clothes as rough as the roughest, and with
a revolver at his belt. In his black-whiskered face his eyes were small
and deep-set, and close together, or as close as an enormous nose would
permit. He was carrying a sack on his shoulder, which he deposited in
order to investigate the pan.
"Yes, sir-ee. A $40 pan, countin' the nugget. Does all your dirt run
like that?"
"No, sir; not yet," replied Terry. "But maybe it will when we sluice
it."
"Goin' to sluice, are you?" The giant's close-set little eyes roved
about inquisitively. "This your claim, is it?"
"Yes, sir. This and the next one."
"Where'd you get that lucky pan o' dirt?"
"From that hole."
The giant strode up, carelessly poked about in the hole with his
boot-toe, filtered some of the dirt through his fingers.
"You're down to bed-rock already," he pronounced, returning. "I
calkilate you may have struck a leetle pocket, but I don't count much on
these shallow slopes. Some gold ketches, most of it's washed down. He
your partner?" and he indicated the preacher.
"No, sir. My partner's down to the store."
"Older'n you?"
"Some."
"Waal," and the giant picked up his sack, "you'll have most of your work
for nothin'. May strike an occasional pocket, an' may not. You've got
one o' them pore locations. Mostly rock." With that he stumped on into
the little draw down which flowed the side rivulet. Once he paused, to
cast a glance behind at the stream and the waiting sluice; and then he
disappeared around a shoulder up the draw.
"We're no better off for _his_ opinion," quoth the preacher. "Don't
believe he's quite the style of a man I'd cater to, anyway. But our
bargain holds, does it? I'll make you out a bill of sale."
"Sure," manfully assented Terry, trying not to regret that this was the
one big pan.
Harry presently arrived, laden with purchases.
"Meat's fifty cents a pound," he panted. "We may have to eat Shep or
Jenny. Flour's snapped up at $15 a sack, and milk's fifty cents a quart
from the cows of some of the emigrants. Whew! Couldn't find any
gold-scales; we'll do our weighing at the grocery store till the express
office or post office is opened. Everything's payable in dust. But I
invested in a treat for us; see?" and he produced a can of oysters!
"That's our bank. The groceryman says oyster-cans are the popular things
for holding gold, in the diggin's. It cost two dollars, but it'll be
worth a heap more than that when it's full. I'm nearly strapped, though.
Have you added much to our pile?"
"Added the preacher's claim," blurted Terry, and 'fessed up. "It was a
big pan, too," he concluded. "I've found only a little color since."
"Color helps," encouraged Harry. "That will be a claim for George. Good!
We can work both with the same water."
The preacher brought the bill of sale of the "True Blue" claim, as he
had named it; and that evening they had him in to join them in making
merry over the can of oysters. Harry thoroughly washed out the emptied
can and set it aside to dry, for the "bank."
The "improvements" on the True Blue claim consisted of merely a few
holes and a lean-to of pine boughs covered with a piece of ragged
canvas. The preacher jovially carried away his personal belongings on
his back; he was, as he expressed it, "traveling light."
Left in possession of both claims, the two partners decided to fill
their oyster-can from the Golden Prize first, and they jumped into the
work of setting up the sluice.
This proved to be a bigger job than it had appeared before being
tackled. The sluice was heavy and had to be moved about by sections; and
to place it conveniently and yet give it the proper slant, the ground
had to be leveled or mounded or lowered; and a little dam had to be
made, with a race or ditch to supply the water to the upper end of the
sluice: and what with disconnecting, and shifting hither-thither, and
re-connecting, and all that, two days were consumed.
There had been no time for panning, but now, at last, they might start
in washing by wholesale, so to speak.
They lugged the dirt on gunny sacking to the sluice, dumped the dirt
into the running water, and while Harry stirred it Terry followed down
along the sluice to throw out the rocks and clear the riffles or cross
cleats. A back-breaking and also muddy job this sluicing was, for the
sackings of dirt were heavy and the sluice of course leaked at the seams
and joints, so that the ground underneath was speedily soaked and made
slippery by the constant trudging.
By noon the riffles were filled with gravelly mud, and Harry decided
that they should be cleaned. So the water was turned off.
Now for the test!
"I see yellow! I see yellow!" asserted Terry, running from cleat to
cleat, and eyeing the deposits against each; and indeed it did seem to
him that the little dikes glistened roguishly.
"You see more than I do, then," retorted Harry, rubbing his long nose.
"What I see is more panning, after all, to sort that stuff."
They dug the lodged stuff out with their knives, and panned several
cleatsful at a time. Harry found a nugget (small one); little by little
the gold left in the pans increased (hurrah!), until, at the wind-up----
"How much, do you think?" demanded Terry, excitedly.
"Mighty near an ounce, and the nugget besides; say $40." Harry's dirty
face was abeam. "And we've washed as much dirt in half a day as we could
pan by hand in a week. At this rate we'll soon have both claims skinned
to the rock, and'll need others. But I reckon we can find 'em, or buy
'em."
"Looks as though we were going to be powerful rich, doesn't it?" said
Terry, awed by the very thought. "We'll fill our oyster can."
"Shucks!" remarked Harry. "I saw one sluice where they'd cleaned up $138
in a day--but there were four men working it, and they had more loose
dirt than we've got. Our dirt's mostly rock. Anyway, we'll lay aside
that $100 we owe Father Richards and have something to show extra before
he and mother and the Stantons come in."
However, the afternoon clean-up netted them, although they had dug the
dirt from a deeper place which looked very promising, scarcely color!
And when early, before breakfast, in the morning, Terry sallied out to
survey about and plan for a big day, to his astonishment the rivulet was
dry, except for a dribble!