It was the Monday morning after the flight of Tomlinson when Ingleby
stood beside a pile of debris on the claim which was no longer his. The
rain had stopped, and there was a wonderful freshness in the mountain
air. Overhead the mists were streaming athwart the forest, pierced by
arrows of golden light, and the fragrance of redwood and cedar filled
the hollow. It is a scent that brings sound rest to the jaded body when
night closes down and braces it as an elixir in the coolness of the
dawn. Ingleby drank it in with vague appreciation. There was hope in it
and vigour, and as he stood with the torn blue shirt falling apart from
his bronzed neck, looking out on the forest with steady eyes, there was
something in his attitude which suggested the silent, hasteless strength
of the wilderness.
The impulsiveness which had afflicted him in England had gone, and
steadfastness had grown in its place. The crude, half-formed thoughts
and theories which had worked like yeast in him had ceased their
ebullition, purging themselves, perhaps, by the froth of speech, and had
left him with a vague optimism too deep for articulate expression. Faith
he had always had, and now the half-comprehending hope that looks beyond
all formulas had also come. So much, at least, the wilderness had done
for him. He laughed as he turned towards Sewell and Leger, who sat on
the pile of thrown-up gravel behind him.
"I've been standing here almost five minutes, doing nothing--I don't
know why," he said. "One does not, as a rule, get rich that way in this
country."
Leger grinned at him. "You have just finished a remarkably good
breakfast, for one thing," he said. "Still, haven't you made an
admission? You always knew why you did everything in England."
Ingleby smiled good-humouredly. "Well," he said, "I'm seldom quite so
sure now. Perhaps, it's because I'm older--or it may be the fault of the
country. Floods and frosts, slides of gravel, and blue-grit boulders are
apt to upset the results one feels reasonably certain of here. That
recalls the fact that I broke out a quantity of promising-looking dirt
the last time I went down this shaft, and didn't try the colour."
"You have sunk several shafts now, and you're evidently improving," said
Sewell. "The original one wasn't sunk or driven. It was scratched out,
anyhow."
"Three or four, and I've made some two hundred dollars out of the lot of
them. In fact, I've been spending my labour profitlessly ever since I
came into the country. That is, at least, so far as one can see."
Sewell smiled. "There's a good deal in the reservation. The whole
country's full of just such holes from Caribou to Kootenay. A few men
took gold out of them. The rest put something in."
"Buried hopes," said Leger with a grin.
"Probably," answered Sewell. "Now and then buried men. Still, the
ranches and the orchards came up after them. It was presumably good for
somebody, although a little rough on the prospectors in question."
Leger appeared reflective. "I wonder if any one could grow plums and
apples on Captain Esmond. In the language of the country it's about the
only use it could have for him. Well, I've smoked my pipe out. Are we
going to stay here and maunder any longer, Ingleby?"
"I'm going down the mine; though, as it doesn't belong to me now, I
don't know why. Still, it's close on bottom, and I'd like to try the
colour of the dirt I broke out on Saturday."
He went down the notched pole, and filled the bucket Sewell lowered
after him, and, when the latter hove it up, they proceeded to the creek,
and the others sat down while Ingleby washed out its contents. Neither
of them showed any particular interest in what he was doing. They had
been some time in the gold-bearing region now, and had discovered that
it is generally wise to expect very little. Then Ingleby scrambled up
the bank with a curious look in his face, and gravely held out the pan.
"Placer mining is a tolerably uncertain thing, but here's a result I
never anticipated two or three days ago," he said. "Look at this!"
They bent over the pan, and their faces grew intent at the sight of the
little grains of metal in its bottom. Then Leger looked up with a gasp.
"You've struck it again," he said. "Apparently as rich as ever!"
Ingleby stood still a moment, gazing straight in front of him with
vacant eyes, and one hand closed a trifle at his side.
"Yes," he said harshly. "The second time, and once more it's of no use
to me. When I recorded as part-owner of Tomlinson's claim, this one fell
in to the Crown. You're on the lead, Tom, and you'll strike it, too; but
you can get your stakes in, Sewell. Sunday's an off day, or the major
would have had his notice out by now."
It was a relief to do anything just then, and he cut and drove in two of
the location pegs the law required. Then when the last was driven he
turned to Sewell with grim quietness.
"Well," he said, "why don't you get away and make your record? There's
no reason you should throw away a fortune, too."
Sewell smiled a little. "For one thing, Major Coulthurst would certainly
not be up when I reached his office. For another, before I record the
claim there's something to be said. The law, you see, cannot be expected
to cover every contingency, and, if you look at it from one point of
view, the claim is still yours. I'll buy the goodwill of you, if you'll
take my bill."
Ingleby shook his head impatiently. "I can't sell you what isn't mine,"
he answered. "Anybody who thinks it worth while can record that claim.
It belongs to the Crown. I have my share in Tomlinson's mine, and, in
one respect, I'm not sorry to see this one come into your possession.
You, at least, would not consider the gold you took out belonged to
yourself."
Sewell looked at him with an expression in his face which somewhat
puzzled Leger.
"No?" he said. "It's not wise to be too sure of anything, Ingleby."
"I believe you told us you had struck gold once before. What did you do
with it? When we met you in Vancouver you hadn't the appearance of a man
who has a balance at his bank."
A suggestion of darker colour crept into Sewell's face. "You can't carry
on a campaign of any kind without funds. The one I embarked upon not
long before you came across me was too big for us. It broke the
exchequer, and landed me in jail."
"Precisely!" said Ingleby. "And what title have I to the money you would
hold in trust? That is the difference between us. I'm not a leader--I'm
glad of it just now--and what gold I find I want for myself."
Once more Sewell's expression furnished Leger with food for reflection,
though Ingleby did not appear to notice it. It is now and then a trifle
embarrassing to have one's good deeds proclaimed to one's face, and
Leger was aware that all Sewell gained was usually expended on the
extension of his propaganda; but that did not seem to account for
everything, and he fancied the man had winced at his comrade's speech,
as though it had hurt him. Then Sewell made a curious little gesture.
"It is," he said, "seldom worth while to decide what other people will
do. They don't know themselves very frequently. Well, since nobody ever
persuaded you, I'll get on and record the claim."
He left them, and neither Ingleby nor Leger broke the silence as they
pushed on up the valley, near the farther end of which Tomlinson's claim
lay. Leger knew that, because his claim adjoined the one his comrade had
allowed to fall to the Crown, he, too, would in all probability find
gold, and, since now it would all be his, that fact alone was sufficient
to occupy him. Still, he was getting accustomed to the dramatic
unexpectedness of the results of placer mining; and he was also sensible
of a certain sympathy for Ingleby, who held no more than a third-share
in Tomlinson's mine. Then he recalled Sewell's face and wondered again.
The man had certainly appeared embarrassed, and that had its
significance in connection with what Ingleby had said. Sewell was
certainly entitled to use what gold he dug toilfully from the earth as
seemed best to him, and there was no reason why he should devote it to
the liberation or enlightenment of those he might regard oppressed
unless he wished. That he had done so hitherto was, it seemed to Leger,
plain; but he fancied it was to be different now. This led to the
question, what did Sewell, who lived with Spartan simplicity, want the
gold for--and to that there was no answer until he changed the what to
whom. Then a reason suggested itself, for Sewell of late had played
chess with Major Coulthurst frequently, more often, indeed, Leger
fancied, than Ingleby knew.
It was a relief to both of them when they reached Tomlinson's mine,
which was by no means imposing at first sight, consisting, as it did, of
a little gap in the forest strewn with blackened branches and charred
fir stumps, a shanty, a pile of shattered rock and gravel, and a black
hole with a very rude windlass straddling it. It did not count at all
that it was engirdled by towering trees whose sombre spires, lifted one
beyond the other in climbing ranks, led the wondering vision upwards
ever across the face of a tremendous crag, where they clung dotted
against the grey rock in the fissures, to the ethereal gleam of
never-melting snow. It was sufficient that the clink of the shovel and
clatter of flung-up gravel came out of the scented shadow, in token that
Tomlinson's claim was on the lead, the bed which had been worn out and
left ages ago by the Green River, or some other, which had washed away
the matrix rock.
Ingleby stopped beside the windlass and rolled the sleeves of his blue
shirt to the elbow as he looked into the shadow beneath him.
"Exactly what is down there I don't know, and it seems a little
astonishing now that I didn't ask Tomlinson when I bought the mine," he
said. "There should be a thousand dollars, anyway. Tom, are you going to
stand shares with me?"
Leger looked at the shaft, and for no very apparent reason became
sensible of unpleasant misgivings.
"No," he said. "You hold only a third-share, anyway, and I'm not sure
that if you split it up there would be enough for two. Still, I'll stay
with you until this evening. You should have some notion how the thing
will work out by then."
They went down and toiled steadily for several hours in the short
heading Tomlinson had driven. Then Leger ascended and hove up the bucket
Ingleby filled, after which they transported the debris to the rocker at
the adjacent creek. Tomlinson's flume, which would bring the water to
the mine, was not finished yet. By the time this was done the dinner
hour had come, and Leger looked at Ingleby as he took up his axe.
"Would you like to go on?" he asked.
"No," said Ingleby, with a little harsh laugh. "There was a time when if
I'd had no food since yesterday I should not have stopped, but one gets
over that. Besides, I almost fancy we shall know quite soon enough what
a third-share in the Tomlinson mine is worth."
Leger made a fire, and Sewell appeared while they ate.
"I have made the record. How have you got on?" he inquired.
Ingleby pointed to the pile of soil and stones and sand. "So far. We are
not going any farther until after dinner. It is not very long since I
turned prospector, but I have twice bottomed on gold and had to let it
go. The last occasion was only two or three hours ago--and I'm not quite
sure I've got over it yet."
Sewell nodded sympathetically. "There is gold here--though it's
remarkable that nobody seems to know how much," he said. "Tomlinson
apparently was not communicative."
"That," said Ingleby, "is, of course, the question. If there is not a
good deal a third-share is scarcely likely to recompense me for leaving
the other claim, especially when there is a thousand dollars to come out
of this one. That's one reason I'm getting dinner before I go any
further. I bought a pig in a poke, you see, and now I'm almost afraid to
open it."
"I wonder why you made the bargain, especially in view of the fact that
Tomlinson told you the chances of striking gold on your own claim were
good."
Ingleby appeared a trifle confused. "Well," he said, "Tomlinson had
found gold while I hadn't then--and one naturally prefers a certainty.
The man was in a difficulty, too."
"Tomlinson, in fact, made use of the old woman back in Oregon somewhat
artistically."
Ingleby flushed a trifle. He was one who, though he had, formerly, at
least, proclaimed his views, nervously concealed his charities.
"Tomlinson never meant to wrong me of a dollar. He isn't that kind of
man," he said.
"No," said Sewell, with a little laugh, "I scarcely think he did. Well,
are we to help you with the wash-up?"
They toiled for awhile knee-deep in very cold water while the rocker
clashed and rattled, and Ingleby, whose face grew a trifle grim as the
time wore on, washed out the residue of its contents in a little pan.
Then, for the others insisted, when there was a good deal of the pile
left, they went back to the mine; and the hour of supper had crept round
again when Ingleby came out of the stream carrying the result of all
that they had done in a little pan. He stood still a moment in the
shadow of the pines, and his lips were set and his eyes unusually grave
as he looked at Sewell.
"If your new claim turns out dirt equal to what we found this morning
you will go South rich," he said. "I would sooner you had it than
anybody else--and I don't think I grudge it you."
Sewell took the pan from him and glanced into it. "I'm sorry," he said
simply. "The thing is done now, and I can't make you a partner unless
you let Tomlinson's claim go, which I presume you don't mean to do."
"That is, of course, quite out of the question. Tomlinson went out
believing it was safe with me."
"Then we come back to the other suggestion. I still fancy you are
entitled to sell me what one might consider your option on the claim.
There are men in the valley who would have willingly handed you their
bill for a thousand dollars for the information you supplied me."
Ingleby looked at him steadily, with his head held back a little.
"It already belonged to the Crown," he said. "Have I ever done anything
that would lead my friends to believe they could bestow alms on me?"
Sewell smiled. "I fancy there are one or two of them who advocate a
community of property!"
It occurred to Leger that it might be advisable to change the subject.
"I'm afraid we usually stop there," he said, with a grin. "It has seemed
to me lately that there are two difficulties in the way of bringing an
equitable division, about, though most people only recognize the obvious
one, which is, however, serious enough. I mean inducing the people who
have anything worth having to part with it."
"And the other?"
"The other," said Leger reflectively, "would consist in inducing the
people who have very little to receive it. There are a few of them who
wouldn't be willing to do so--at least, in the Colonies. They want to
reap only what they have sown."
"It isn't quite clear that they will be permitted."
Leger smiled drily, though he looked hard at Sewell. "Well," he said, "I
almost fancy one could leave it to them. It would be an unfortunate
thing for the men who insisted on getting in the way of the sickle."
Then he turned to Ingleby, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "It might be
worse," he said.
"Yes," answered Ingleby, who laughed a little, though it cost him an
effort, "considerably. The man who has what is evidently a very good
living in his hands really doesn't deserve very much sympathy. Still,
you see, I twice threw away what looked like a fortune. Any one would
find the reflection apt to worry him."
They went away and left him sitting on a blackened cedar stump in the
desolate clearing. The clink of the shovels no longer rose from beyond
the sombre trees, and there was deep stillness in the hollow. The gaps
in the forest grew duskier, and a peak across the valley flung a cold
blue shadow athwart the gleaming snow. The dew was settling heavily; but
Ingleby sat still, grave in face, seeing nothing, until he rose with a
little resolute shake of his shoulders and, slipping down from the
stump, took up his axe.
He had twice thrown away a fortune, and with it, for a time, at least,
the prospect of realizing a very precious hope; but fortunes are now and
then retrieved suddenly in that country; and, in any case, a man who
would work must eat.