THE DIGGINGS
The following days were replicas of the first. We ate hurriedly at odd
times; we worked feverishly; we sank into our tumbled blankets at night
too tired to wiggle. But the buckskin sack of gold was swelling and
rounding out most satisfactorily. By the end of the week it contained
over a pound!
But the long hours, the excitement, and the inadequate food told on our
nerves. We snapped at each other impatiently at times; and once or twice
came near to open quarrelling. Johnny and I were constantly pecking at
each other over the most trivial concerns.
One morning we were halfway to the bar when we remembered that we had
neglected to picket out the horses. It was necessary for one of us to go
back, and we were all reluctant to do so.
"I'll be damned if I'm going to lug 'way up that hill," I growled to
myself. "I tied them up yesterday, anyway."
Johnny caught this.
"Well, it wasn't your turn yesterday," he pointed out, "and it is
to-day. I've got nothing to do with what you chose to do yesterday."
"Or any other day," I muttered.
"What's that?" cried Johnny truculently. "I couldn't hear. Speak up!"
We were flushed, and eying each other malevolently.
"That'll do!" said Yank, with an unexpected tone of authority. "Nobody
will go back, and nobody will go ahead. We'll just sit down on this log,
yere, while we smoke one pipe apiece. I've got something to say."
Johnny and I turned on him with a certain belligerency mingled with
surprise. Yank had so habitually acted the part of taciturnity that his
decided air of authority confused us. His slouch had straightened, his
head was up, his mild eye sparkled. Suddenly I felt like a bad small
boy; and I believe Johnny was the same. After a moment's hesitation we
sat down on the log.
"Now," said Yank firmly, "it's about time we took stock. We been here
now five days; we ain't had a decent meal of vittles in that time; we
ain't fixed up our camp a mite; we ain't been to town to see the sights;
we don't even know the looks of the man that's camped down below us.
We've been too danged busy to be decent. Now we're goin' to call a halt.
I should jedge we have a pound of gold, or tharabouts. How much is that
worth, Johnny? You can figger in yore head."
"Along about two hundred and fifty dollars," said Johnny after a moment.
"Well, keep on figgerin'. How much does that come to apiece?"
"About eighty dollars, of course."
"And dividin' eighty by five?" persisted Yank.
"Sixteen."
"Well," drawled Yank, his steely blue eye softening to a twinkle,
"sixteen dollars a day is fair wages, to be sure; but nothin' to get
wildly excited over." He surveyed the two of us with some humour.
"Hadn't thought of it that way, had you?" he asked. "Nuther had I until
last night. I was so dog tired I couldn't sleep, and I got to figgerin'
a little on my own hook."
"Why, I can do better than that in San Francisco--with half the work!" I
cried.
"Maybe for a while," said Yank, "but here we got a chance to make a big
strike most any time; and in the meantime to make good wages. But we
ain't going to do it any quicker by killin' ourselves. Now to-day is
Sunday. I ain't no religious man; but Sunday is a good day to quit. I
propose we go back to camp peaceable, make a decent place to stay, cook
ourselves up a squar' meal, wash out our clothes, visit the next camp,
take a look at town, and enjoy ourselves."
Thus vanished the first and most wonderful romance of the gold. Reduced
to wages it was somehow no longer so marvellous. The element of
uncertainty was always there, to be sure; and an inexplicable
fascination; but no longer had we any desire to dig up the whole place
immediately. I suppose we moved nearly as much earth, but the fibres of
our minds were relaxed, and we did it more easily and with less nervous
wear and tear.
Also, as Yank suggested, we took pains to search out our fellow beings.
The camper below us proved to be Don Gaspar, velvet breeches and all. He
received us hospitably, and proffered perfumed cigarettos which we did
not like, but which we smoked out of politeness. Our common ground of
meeting was at first the natural one of the gold diggings. Don Gaspar
and his man, whom he called Vasquez, had produced somewhat less flake
gold than ourselves, but exhibited a half-ounce nugget and several
smaller lumps. We could not make him out. Neither his appearance nor his
personal equipment suggested necessity; and yet he laboured as hard as
the rest of us. His gaudy costume was splashed and grimy with the red
mud, although evidently he had made some attempt to brush it. The linen
was, of course, hopeless. He showed us the blisters on his small
aristocratic-looking hands.
"It is the hard work" he stated simply, "but one gets the gold."
From that subject we passed on to horses. He confessed that he was
uneasy as to the safety of his own magnificent animals; and succeeded in
alarming us as to our own.
"Thos' Indian," he told us, "are always out to essteal; and the
_paisanos_. It has been tole me that Andreas Amijo and his robbers
are near. Some day we loose our horse!"
Our anxiety at this time was given an edge by the fact that the horses,
having fed well, and becoming tired of the same place, were inclined to
stray. It was impossible to keep them always on picket lines--the nature
of the meadow would not permit it--and they soon learned to be very
clever with their hobbles. Several mornings we put in an hour or so
hunting them up and bringing them in before we could start work for the
day. This wasted both time and temper. The result was that we drifted
into partnership with Don Gaspar and Vasquez. I do not remember who
proposed the arrangement; indeed, I am inclined to think it just came
about naturally from our many discussions on the subject. Under the
terms of it we appointed Vasquez to cook all the meals, take full care
of the horses, chop the wood, draw the water, and keep camp generally.
The rest of us worked in couples at the bar. We divided the gold into
five equal parts.
Our production at this time ran from five to seven ounces a day, which
was, of course, good wages, but would not make our fortunes. We soon
fell into a rut, working cheerfully and interestedly, but without
excitement. The nature of our produce kept our attention. We should long
since have wearied of any other job requiring an equal amount of work,
but there was a never-ending fascination in blowing away the debris from
the virgin gold. And one day, not far from us, two Hollanders--"Dutch
Charleys," as the miners called that nationality--scooped from a
depression in the bedrock mixed coarse gold thirty odd pounds in
weight--over $5,000! That revived our interest, you may be sure.
Most of the miners seemed content to stick to panning. Their argument
was that by this method they could accumulate a fair amount of dust, and
ran just as good chances of a "strike" as the next fellow. Furthermore,
they had no tools, no knowledge and no time to make cradles. Those
implements had to be very accurately constructed.
We discussed this matter almost every evening. Yank was a great believer
in improving the efficiency of our equipment.
"It'll handle four or five times the dirt," said he "and that means four
or five times the dust."
"There's no lumber to be had anywhere," I objected.
"I know where there's three good stout boxes made of real lumber that we
can get for forty dollars," said Yank.
"You can't cut that stuff up with an axe."
"John Semple has a saw, a plane, and a hammer; he's a carpenter."
"You bet he is!" agreed Johnny. "I was talking to him last night. He
won't lend his tools; and he won't hire them. He'll come with them for
fifty dollars a day."
"All right," said Yank, "let's hire him. I'm pretty handy, and I'll stay
right in camp and help him. Vasquez can go dig instead of me. We can get
'em cut out and fitted in two days, anyway. We've got the money!"
I think none of us was very enthusiastic on this subject except Yank;
but he finally carried the day. Vasquez, somewhat to his chagrin, I
thought, resumed his shovel. Yank and John Semple tinkered away for the
allotted two days, and triumphantly produced two cradles at a cost of a
round one hundred and fifty dollars.
Although we had been somewhat doubtful as to the advisability of
spending this sum, I am bound to state that Yank's insistence was
justified. It certainly made the work easier. We took turns shovelling
the earth and pouring in the water, and "rocking the baby." Our
production jumped two or three ounces a day.