It was inevitable that the golden secret should escape. Others besides
the Chinese cook had sharp eyes, and the Widow Delaney grew paler and
more irritable as the days wore on. She had a hunted look. She hardly
ever left her kitchen, it was observed, and her bedroom door had a new
lock. Every second night Bidwell, gaunt and ragged, and furtive as a
burglar, brought a staggering mule-load of the richest ore and stowed it
away under the shanty floor and in the widow's bedroom. Luckily miners
are sound sleepers, or the two midnight marauders would have been
discovered on the second night.
One day John, the cook, seized the cracker-barrel, intending to put it
into a different corner. He gave it a slight wrench, looked a little
surprised, and lifted a little stronger. It did not budge. He remarked:
"Klackels belly hebby. No sabbe klackels allee same deese."
"_Let that alone!_" screamed Mrs. Delaney. "Phwat will ye be doin' nixt,
ye squint-eyed monkey? I'll tell ye whin to stir things about."
The startled Chinaman gave way in profound dismay. "Me goin' s'eep lound
klackel-ballell, you sabbe?"
"Well, I'll do the sweepin' there. I nailed that barrel to the flure
apurpis. L'ave it alone, will ye?"
This incident decided her. That night, when Bidwell came, she broke out:
"Sherm, I cannot stand this anny longer. I'm that nairvous I can't hear
a fly buzz widout hot streaks chasin' up and down me spine like little
red snakes. And man, luk at yersilf. Why, ye're hairy as a go-at and yer
eyes are loike two white onions. I say stop, Sherm dear!"
"What'll we do?" asked Bidwell in alarm.
"Do? I'll tell ye phwat we'll do. We'll put our feets down and say,
'Yis, 'tis true, we've shtruck ut, and it's ours.' Then I'll get a team
from Las Animas and load the stuff in before the face and eyes of the
world, and go wid it to sell it, whilst you load y'r gun an' stand guard
over the hole in the ground. I'm fair crazy wid this burglar's business.
We're both as thin as quakin' asps and full as shaky. You go down the
trail this minute and bring a team and a strong wagon--no wan will know
till ye drive in. Now go!"
Bidwell was ruled by her clear and sensible words, and rode away into
the clear dark of the summer's night with a feeling that it was all a
dream--a vision such as he had often had while prospecting in the
mountains; but, as day came on and he looked back upon the red hole he
had made in the green hillside, the reality of it all came to pinch his
heart and make him gasp. His storehouse, his well of golden waters, was
unguarded, and open to the view of any one who should chance to look
that way. He beat his old mule to a gallop in the frenzy of the moment.
The widow meanwhile got breakfast for the men, and as soon as they were
off up the trail she set the awed and wondering Chinaman to hauling the
sacks of ore out from beneath the shanty and piling them conveniently
near the roadway. She watched every movement and checked off each sack
like a shipping-clerk. "Merciful powers! the work that man did!" she
exclaimed, alluding to Bidwell, who had dug all that mass of ore and
packed it in the night from the mine to its safe concealment.
Of course, Mrs. Clark, the storekeeper's wife, saw them at work and came
over to see what was going on.
"Good morning, Mrs. Delaney. You're not going to move?"
"I am."
"I'm sorry. What's the reason of it? Why, that looks like ore!" she said
as she peered at a sack.
"It _is_ ore! and I'm goin' to ship it to the mill. Have ye anny
objection?" asked Mrs. Delaney, defiantly.
"Where did it come from?"
"That's _my_ business. There's wan more under there," she said to the
Chinaman, and as he came creeping out like a monstrous bug tugging a
pair of Bidwell's overalls (ore-filled), as if they formed the trunk of
a man whom he had murdered and hidden, Mrs. Clark turned and fled toward
the store to tell her husband.
"There ye go, now! Ye screech-owl," sneered the Widow Delaney. "It's all
up wid us; soon the whole world will know of ut. Well--we're here
first," she defiantly added.
Clark came over, pale with excitement. "Let me see that ore!" he called
out as he ran up and laid his hand on a sack.
"Get off--and stay off!" said Maggie, whipping a revolver out of her
pocket. "That's my ore, and you let it alone!"
Clark recoiled in surprise, but the widow's anxiety to protect her
property added enormously to his excitement. "The ore must be very
rich," he argued. "How do I know but that comes from one of my claims?"
he asked.
The widow thrust the muzzle of the revolver under his nose. "Would ye
call me a thafe? 'Tis well Bidwell is not here; he'd do more than make
ye smell of a gun. Go back to yer own business--if ye value a whole
skin--an' stay away from phwat does not concern ye."
All this was characteristically intemperate of Maggie, and by the time
Bidwell came clattering up the trail with a big freight-wagon the whole
gulch was aroused, and a dozen men encircled the heap of motley bags on
which Mrs. Delaney sat, keeping them at bay.
When she heard the wagon her nerves steadied a little and she said, more
soberly: "Boys, there comes Bidwell with a wagon to haul this stuff
away, and, Johnson, you help him load it while I go see about dinner."
As Bidwell drove up a mutter of amazement ran round the group and each
man had his say.
"Why, Bid, what's the matter? You look like a man found dead."
"I'm just beginning to live!" said Bidwell, and the reply was long
remembered in Bear Gulch.
"Well, now ye know all about it, ye gawks, take hold and help the man
load up. I'll have dinner ready fer ye in a snort," repeated the widow.
Clark drew his partners aside. "He packed that ore here; he must have
left a trail. You take a turn up the canyon and see if you can't find it.
It's close by somewhere."
Bidwell saw them conferring and called out: "You needn't take any
trouble, Clark; I'll lead you to the place after dinner. My claim is
staked and application filed--so don't try any tricks on me."
The widow's eyes were equally keen, and the growing cupidity of the men
did not escape her. Coming out with a big meat sandwich, she said:
"'Twill not do to sit down, Sherm; take this in yer fist and go. They'll
all be slippin' away like snakes if ye don't. I'll take John and the
ore--we'll make it somehow--and I'll stay wid it till it's paid for."
She was right. The miners were struggling with the demons of desire and
ready to stampede at any moment. Hastily packing his mule, Bidwell
started up the trail, saying:
"Fall in behind me, boys, and don't scrouge. The man who tries to crowd
me off the trail will regret it."
They were quiet enough till he left the trail and started down toward
the Bear. Then Johnson cried, "I know where it is!" and plunged with a
whoop into the thicket of willows that bordered the creek.
"Mebbe he does and mebbe he don't," said Clark. "I'm going to stick by
Bid till we get the lay o' the land."
They maintained fairly good order until Bidwell's trail became a plain
line leading up the hillside; then the stampede began. With wild halloos
and resounding thwacking of mules they scattered out, raced over the
hilltop, and disappeared, leaving Bidwell to plod on with his laden
burro.
When he came in sight of his mine men were hammering stakes into the
ground on all sides of the discovery claim, and Clark and Johnson were
in a loud wrangle as to who reached the spot first. Leading his mule up
to the cliff wall where he had built a shelter, Bidwell unpacked his
outfit, and as he stood his rifle against a rock he said:
"I'm planted right here, neighbors. My roots run deep underground, and
the man who tries to jump this claim will land in the middle of hell
fire--now, that's right."
Their claims once staked and their loud differences stilled, the men had
leisure to come and examine the discovery claim.
"You've the best of it," said Cantor, an old miner. "There may not be an
ounce of gold outside your vein. It's a curious formation; I can't tell
how it runs."
Toward night the other miners left and went back to camp, leaving
Bidwell alone. As darkness came on he grew nervous again. "They'd kill
me if they dared," he muttered, as he crouched in his shelter, his gun
on his knee. He was very sleepy, but resolved not to close his eyes. "If
I only had a dog--some one I could trust; but I haven't a soul," he
added, bitterly, as his weakness grew. The curse of gold sat heavily
upon him and his hands were lax with weariness.
"I was a fool to let Maggie go off with that ore," he muttered, his mind
following the widow in her perilous journey down the gulch. He did not
distrust her; he only feared her ability to override the difficulties of
her mission. For the best part of his life he had sought the metal
beneath his feet, and, now that he had found it, his blood ran cold with
suspicion and fear.
Daylight brought a comparative sense of safety, and, building a fire, he
cooked his breakfast in peace--though his eyes were restless. "Oh,
they'll come," he said, aloud. "They'll boil in here on me in another
hour or two."
And they did. The men from Delaney came first, followed a little later
by their partners from the high gulches, and after them the genuine
stampeders. The merchants, clerks, hired hands, barbers, hostlers, and
half-starved lawyers from the valley towns came pouring up the trail
and, pausing just long enough to see the shine of gold in Bidwell's
dump, flung themselves upon the land, seizing the first unclaimed
contiguous claim without regard to its character or formation. Their
stakes once set, they began to roam, pawing at the earth like
prairie-dogs and quite as ineffectually. Swarms of the most curious
surrounded Bidwell's hole in the ground, picking at the ore and flooding
the air with shouts and questions till the old man in desperation
ordered them off his premises and set up a notice:
"Keep off this ground or meet trouble!"
To his friends he explained, "Every piece of rock they carry off is
worth so much money."
"Ye've enough here to buy the warrld, mon," protested Angus Craig, an
old miner from the north.
"I don't know whether I have or not," said Bidwell. "It may be just a
little spatter of gold."
That night the whole range of foot-hills was noisy with voices and
sparkling with camp-fires. From the treeless valleys below these lights
could be seen, and the heavily laden trains of the San Luis
Accommodation trailed a loud hallelujah as the incoming prospectors
lifted their voices in joyous greeting to those on the mountainside.
"It's another Cripple Creek!" one man shouted, and the cry struck home.
"We're in on it," they all exulted.
Bidwell did not underestimate his importance in this rush of
gold-frenzied men. He was appalled by the depth and power of the streams
centering upon him. For weeks he had toiled to the full stretch of his
powers without sufficient sleep, and he was deathly weary, emaciated to
the bone, and trembling with nervous weakness, but he was indomitable. A
long life of camping, prospecting, and trenching had fitted him to
withstand even this strain, and to "stay with it" was an instinct with
him. Therefore he built a big fire not far from the mine and spread his
blankets there; but he did not lie down till after midnight, and only
then because he could not keep awake, even while in sitting posture. "I
must sleep, anyhow," he muttered. "I can't stand this any longer. I must
sleep"--And so his eyes closed.
He was awakened by a voice he knew calling out: "Is this the way ye
watch y'r mine, Sherm Bidwell?" And, looking up, he saw the Widow
Delaney sitting astride a mule and looking down at him with tender
amusement. "Ye are a pitcher; sure! Ye look like wan o' the holy saints
of ould--or a tramp. Help me off this baste and I'll turn to and scorch
a breakfast for ye."
He staggered stiffly to his feet and awkwardly approached her. "I had
only just dropped off," he apologized.
"Ye poor lad!" she said, compassionately. "Ye're stiff as a poker wid
cold."
"How did ye come out with the ore?" he asked.
"Thrust y'r Maggie! I saw it loaded into a car and sent away. Bedad, I
had a moind to go wid it to the mill, but I says, Sherm nor mesilf can
be in two places to wanst. So I gave o'er the notion and came home.
They'll thieve the half of it, av coorse, but so goes the world, divil
catch it!"
The widow was a powerful reinforcement. She got breakfast while Bidwell
dozed again, and with the influence of hot coffee and the genial sun the
firm grew confident of holding at least the major part of their
monstrous good luck.
"Thrust no wan but me," said the widow in decisive warning. "The world
is full of rogues. From this toime ivery man's hand is agin' y'r
gold--schamin' to reach y'r pockets. Rest yersilf and I'll look after
the gould. From this toime on we work only wid our brains."
She did indeed become the captain. On her advice he sent a man for
ore-sacks and tools, while other willing hands set to work to build a
cabin to shelter them.
"We're takin' no chances," she said; "we camp right here."
That day Las Animas, Crestone, Powder Gulch, and Los Gatos emptied
themselves upon the hills, and among them were representatives of big
firms in Denver, Colorado Springs, and Pueblo. The path past the Maggie
Mine was worn deep by the feet of the gold-seekers, and Bidwell's rude
pole barrier was polished by the nervous touch of greedy palms.
About ten o'clock a quiet man in a gray suit of clothes asked Bidwell if
he wanted to sell. Bidwell said, "No," short and curt, but Maggie asked,
with a smile, "How much?"
"Enough to make you comfortable for life. If it runs as well as this
sample I'll chance fifty thousand dollars on it."
Maggie snorted. "Fifty thousand! Why, I tuk twoice that to the mill last
night."
"Let me get in and examine the mine a little closer. I may be able to
raise my bid."
"Not till ye make it wan hundred thousand may you even have a luk at
it," she replied.
Other agents came--some confidential, others coldly critical, but all
equally unsuccessful. The two "idiots" could not see why they should
turn over the gold which lay there in sight to a syndicate. It was
theirs by every right, and though the offers went far beyond their
conception they refused to consider them.
All day axes resounded in the firs, and picks were busy in the gullies.
Camp goods, provisions, and bedding streamed by on trains of mules, and
by nightfall a city was in its initial stages--tent stores, open-air
saloons, eating-booths, and canvas hotels. A few of the swarming
incomers were skeptical of the find, but the larger number were
hilariously boastful of their locations, and around their evening
camp-fires groups gathered to exult over their potentialities.
The sun had set, but the western slope of the hill was still brilliant
with light as Bidwell's messenger with his sumpter horse piled high
with bales of ore-sacks came round the clump of firs at the corner of
Bidwell's claim. He was followed by a tall man who rode with a tired
droop and nervous clutching at the rein.
Bidwell stared and exclaimed, "May I be shot if the preachers aren't
takin' a hand in the rush!"
The widow looked unwontedly rosy as she conclusively said, "I sent for
him, man dear!"
"You did? What for?"
The widow was close enough now to put her hand in the crook of his
elbow. "To make us wan, Sherm darlin'. There's no time like the
prisent."
Bidwell tugged at his ragged beard. "I wish I had time to slick up a
bit."
"There'll be plinty of time for that afterward," she said. "Go welcome
the minister."
In the presence of old Angus Craig and young Johnson they were married,
and when the minister gave Mrs. Bidwell a rousing smack she wiped her
lips with the back of her hand and said to Bidwell:
"Now we're ayqul partners, Sherm, and all old scores wiped out."