PAT CASEY HELPS OUT
He hastened back to the cabin with his eyes popping.
"Our water's gone!"
"What!"
"It is. There's not enough to fill a tin cup!"
"Great Scotland!" And setting aside the skillet and dropping his fork,
Harry rushed out to see for himself.
"Wonder if the blamed thing's drying up," he hazarded. "Well, we've got
a pailful for drinking and cooking, anyway. And after breakfast we'll
try to find out what's happened."
They had not yet explored the little draw down which the water drained;
it was shallow and uninteresting; but they did not need to go far to
find out "what had happened." Around the shoulder of the first bend they
arrived at a branch draw on the other side of their low hill, and were
in the midst of some more claims.
Water from a spring had been feeding the little draw and the branch draw
both; but now a sluice had been set up, taking away so much that there
was none left for the little draw.
Several men were at work with the sluice. They paid no attention to
their visitors until Harry interrupted the nearest.
"Look here. You men have taken our water."
The man turned around short. He was the giant who had commented on
Terry's big pan and on the condition in general of the Golden Prize
prospect.
"What you talkin' about?" he growled. "Who are you an' where you come
from? Oh, it's you, is it?" he added, to Terry--and Terry had the notion
that he had known perfectly well who they were and where they were from,
before speaking.
"Yes," answered Terry. "And this is my partner. You aren't leaving us
any water for our own sluice."
"You have all that comes, haven't you?"
"We haven't all that ought to come, though," answered Harry, a bit
sharply because the giant's tone was decidedly rough. "You've dug the
ditch to your sluice higher up than necessary, and it lowers the level
of the spring so much that no water enters our gulch at all. The stream
used to split, didn't it?"
"Split nothin'. Trouble is, your gulch is runnin' dry. You ought to've
figgered on that, now that the snow's all melted off and sunk in. Most
of those little gulches dry up, come toward summer."
"The stream used to split, and feed through this gulch, just the same,"
insisted Harry. "You can see the channel. I hold that we're entitled to
a share of this spring. And if you'd move your ditch a foot or two we'd
get enough, and you'd have plenty yourselves."
"You're entitled to just what drains into your gulch, an' we're entitled
to what drains into ours," growled the giant. "This water's in our
gulch, ain't it--spring and all?"
"I don't know that it is, by rights," retorted Harry. "The spring's
pretty close to being at the dividing point. And anyway, we're not
asking you for your water; we're asking for ours."
"Now look-ee here," and the giant tapped his revolver butt: "By miners'
law we're entitled to a share o' what water comes down our gulch, an' by
miners' law you're entitled to a share o' what water comes down your
gulch, alluz considerin' there's any to share. If your claim was wuth a
picayune I'd advise you to hold on till next spring, when mebbe you'd
get a leetle water again from natteral drainage; but as it ain't wuth a
picayune I'd advise you to get off an' look elsewhar. Anyhow, you get
off this ground mighty quick; for if you're huntin' trouble you'll find
it in a bigger dose than you can handle."
"It looks to me like a deliberate scheme to run us off," began Harry,
hotly. But he checked himself. "Come on, Terry," he bade.
"Did you see Pine Knot Ike?" exclaimed Terry, as they returned, with
heads up, to their own ground. "I did--he was down below, with another
man."
"Yes, I saw him." Back at their sluice again they stood undecided. Harry
scratched his long nose and surveyed about. "Confound 'em! It's a dirty
mean trick. If they'd change the head of their sluice ever so little
we'd have enough water and so would they. But they've fixed it so that
when they shut off to clean up the water all flows the other way. Let's
see. We can get water for the cabin from that creek down below. Might
pan with it, too--only we'd spend most of our time carrying the dirt
down or the water up."
But when they went down to the creek, to investigate, they were curtly
told by a camper there that his claim and others extended all along on
both sides, and that they were entitled to the water themselves.
"You can help yourselves to drinking water, and that's all," he granted.
"I'm sorry, strangers, but if you're on a dry prospect I reckon you'd
better get out."
"Not yet!" retorted Harry. "Not," he added to Terry, "as long as we can
make _pie_! Come on. We'll find Pat."
They had not seen Pat Casey for several days. As they descended the
gulch, it seemed busier and more crowded than ever. Five thousand people
were here now, according to report, and all the surrounding gulches were
thronged, also. Sluices were running, others were being set up--and the
thought of their own dry, useless sluice, and the gold that _must_ be
waiting, and the way they had worked to prepare for getting it, made
Terry half sick. His father would laugh, and George would be a pest.
Yes, George would poke all manner of fun at them.
Pat wasn't where they had expected to find him.
"Pat Casey? The red-headed Irishman, you mean? He's across yonder, and
he's struck it rich. You'll find him over there, strangers, washing out
$50 and more a day."
So Pat had moved. He was waist deep in a trench that showed signs of
soon being a tunnel; and when from the brink they hailed him, he
clambered out. All mud and perspiration was Pat.
"B' gorry, Oi'm glad to see yez," said Pat. "Oi've been thinkin' o' yez,
but what with gettin' rich Oi've no time for calls. Oi bought out the
men who were gopherin' here, an' now the deeper Oi go the richer Oi am.
Sure, yez are lookin' at a millionaire, 'most. An' how are things with
you boys?"
They told him. Pat scratched his head.
"Too bad, too bad. An' a dirty trick. But, faith, there ain't water
enough to go 'round, an' that's a fact; not sayin', though, that they're
actin' square, at all. For they ain't. Are yez in need?" He winked.
"Jist come into me house a minute."
He led them into his bough hut, and from underneath his bunk fished out
an oyster can.
"Heft it, wance," he invited.
It was heavy.
"Help yourselves, lads," he insisted.
But Harry laughed.
"Not yet, thanks, Pat. We've got a little to tide us along. What I want
to know is, how's your appetite for pie?"
"Two dollars apiece for pie, an' two pies a day: wan for breakfast an'
wan for supper; an' on Sunday wan for dinner besides," promptly answered
Pat.
"It's a go," pronounced Harry.
"Will it take the both o' yez to make pie?" queried Pat. "Sure, ye look
like a husky boy," he said, to Terry. "Let your partner make the pies,
an' ye turn your hand to helpin' me at the sluice. Oi need another good
worker. Oi fired the wan Oi had only this very mornin' because he sat
down too frequent. Oi'll give ye a dollar an' a half a day, an' ye can
fetch down me pies."
"That's a bargain," accepted Terry. "Wait till I get my spade."
When he and Harry arrived again at their own property they found the
giant there. He was standing in their hole, and inquisitively poking
about.
"Here! What are you doing?" challenged Harry.
"No harm meant," apologized the giant. "But you're down to bed-rock an'
that's a fact. Still, a man might wash out a little dust, from spots, I
reckon, if he had the water. Now, the truth is we're sorry for you boys.
You've put consider'ble time an' labor in on this prospect, an' we're
willin' to do the right thing. How'll you sell?"
"For how much?" demanded Harry.
"The property's no good to you; never would amount to anything great
anyhow; it's too rocky. But I'll tell you what we'll do: We'll give you
$100 for your claim, to save hard feelin's, an' we'll take the chance o'
pannin' out enough when there's water, to pay us back. I expec' we'll
lose, but we'd rather lose than have the hard feelin's. You get the
hundred dollars an' the experience."
"We'll keep the experience and the claim, too; eh, Terry?" Harry
answered. "And there's something you men can keep: you can keep _off_.
What's that in your hand? A piece of our rock? Drop it!"
[Illustration: "THE GIANT SAT DOWN WITH AN EXPLOSIVE GRUNT, AND HARRY
STOOD OVER, SCARCELY PANTING, REVOLVER DANGLING IN HAND"]
"Cock-a-doodle-do!" jeered the giant. "Mebbe I picked up this rock here
an' mebbe I picked it up somewheres else. But I drop it when I get
ready. You crow mighty loud for a young rooster without any spurs."
The giant was standing confidently agrin, resting at ease on one leg,
his hand on his hip--but he did not know Harry. With a single jump Harry
had reached him, quicker than the eye could follow had jerked the
revolver from its scabbard and at the same time with a twist of the foot
had knocked loose the propping leg. The giant sat down with an explosive
grunt, and Harry stood over, scarcely panting, revolver dangling in
hand.
"We wear our spurs on the inside, like a cat's claws," he said. "Now you
sit there till you drop that piece of rock."
But the giant looked so ugly and menacing, as he glared about, that
Terry flew to the cabin for the shot-gun. He was back with it in a
jiffy--and the giant was already slowly rising to his feet. He had
dropped the piece of rock.
"'Tisn't wuth sheddin' blood for," he grunted. "Your hull property isn't
wuth the lead in a bullet. But I admit you did for me mighty clever.
Where'd you l'arn that trick?"
"We're as full of tricks as you are," retorted Harry. "Here's your gun.
You needn't keep him covered, Terry. He's going."
"Then you refuse our offer, do you?"
"Yes. You can't buy even the privilege of walking across this land for a
hundred dollars or a thousand dollars."
"All right. You can squat here till you starve an' dry up, then. Mebbe
you have the trick o' livin' on nothin', but I doubt it. I'd like to
know that wrestlin' trip, though--I'll give you an ounce o' dust to show
me."
"No, you can't buy that, either," laughed Harry.
"That preacher feller gone away?" queried the giant, with a jerk of the
head toward the True Blue claim.
"Yes," said Harry, shortly. "He's quit."
With a calculating glance around, the giant stalked off. They watched
him go. Harry picked up the piece of rock.
"Wonder what he wanted of this," mused Harry. "It doesn't look any
different from lots of the other rock. White quartz, I reckon, with iron
rust in it. We could have given him a bushel of the same. He didn't find
it lying loose, though. He cracked it off from somewhere. That's a fresh
break."
They searched about curiously a minute for the source of the fragment.
It was a smooth knob, the size of a large walnut, showing rusty white at
the fracture.
"We can't wash rock, anyhow," quoth Terry. "It just clogs up the sluice.
We wash the dirt."
"And we can't wash even that now. It seems queer, though, that that
outfit would want to buy this claim after saying it's worthless. You
didn't want to sell, did you?"
"No," stoutly declared Terry. "Not unless we have to, to pay dad back."
"Not as long as we can sell pies and make day wages, at any rate," added
Harry. "There are just as good ways of getting money as digging it out
the ground. If those fellows bother us we've tricks for all their legs
as fast as they bring 'em over." He stuffed the piece of rock into his
pocket. "I'll keep this for luck," he said.
Harry alertly started in on preparations for his pie-baking; he had
hopes of enlisting other customers than Pat. Terry shouldered spade and
pick, and trudged off to help Pat.
He found Pat much excited.
"Have ye heard the grand news? No? Why, sure, the great editor man,
Horace Grayley, be comin' to the diggin's! He's on his way already--him
an' other cilibrated citizens all the way from New York. The boys are
arrangin' a rayciption for 'em tomorrow; an' b' gorry, 'tis mesilf will
have the honor o' lettin' the great Grayley, who be the editor o' the
New York _Tribyune_, wash the gold with his own hands from this very
pit. Faith, if Oi don't make his pans rich for him my name's not Pat
Casey."
When that evening Terry, wet and dirty and tired, went home, the word of
the approach of Editor Horace Greeley and party had aroused much
interest through the gulch.
He found everything ship-shape but quiet at the cabin, where Harry had
baked several pies and a batch of bread and hung out some washing. A
sign, of wrapping paper and charcoal lettering, now announced:
GREGORY GULCH BAKERY
Apple Pie
Bread, Etc.
HARRY REVERE & CO.