But Corliss did go back to see her, and before the day was out. A
little bitter self-communion had not taken long to show him his
childishness. The sting of loss was hard enough, but the thought, now
they could be nothing to each other, that her last impressions of him
should be bad, hurt almost as much, and in a way, even more. And
further, putting all to the side, he was really ashamed. He had
thought that he could have taken such a disappointment more manfully,
especially since in advance he had not been at all sure of his footing.
So he called upon her, walked with her up to the Barracks, and on the
way, with her help, managed to soften the awkwardness which the morning
had left between them. He talked reasonably and meekly, which she
countenanced, and would have apologized roundly had she not prevented
him.
"Not the slightest bit of blame attaches to you," she said. "Had I
been in your place, I should probably have done the same and behaved
much more outrageously. For you were outrageous, you know."
"But had you been in my place, and I in yours," he answered, with a
weak attempt at humor, "there would have been no need."
She smiled, glad that he was feeling less strongly about it.
"But, unhappily, our social wisdom does not permit such a reversal," he
added, more with a desire to be saying something.
"Ah!" she laughed. "There's where my Jesuitism comes in. I can rise
above our social wisdom."
"You don't mean to say,--that--?"
"There, shocked as usual! No, I could not be so crude as to speak
outright, but I might _finesse_, as you whist-players say. Accomplish
the same end, only with greater delicacy. After all, a distinction
without a difference."
"Could you?" he asked.
"I know I could,--if the occasion demanded. I am not one to let what I
might deem life-happiness slip from me without a struggle. That"
(judicially) "occurs only in books and among sentimentalists. As my
father always says, I belong to the strugglers and fighters. That
which appeared to me great and sacred, that would I battle for, though
I brought heaven tumbling about my ears."
"You have made me very happy, Vance," she said at parting by the
Barracks gates. "And things shall go along in the same old way. And
mind, not a bit less of you than formerly; but, rather, much more."
But Corliss, after several perfunctory visits, forgot the way which led
to Jacob Welse's home, and applied himself savagely to his work. He
even had the hypocrisy, at times, to felicitate himself upon his
escape, and to draw bleak fireside pictures of the dismal future which
would have been had he and Frona incompatibly mated. But this was only
at times. As a rule, the thought of her made him hungry, in a way akin
to physical hunger; and the one thing he found to overcome it was hard
work and plenty of it. But even then, what of trail and creek, and
camp and survey, he could only get away from her in his waking hours.
In his sleep he was ignobly conquered, and Del Bishop, who was with him
much, studied his restlessness and gave a ready ear to his mumbled
words.
The pocket-miner put two and two together, and made a correct induction
from the different little things which came under his notice. But this
did not require any great astuteness. The simple fact that he no
longer called on Frona was sufficient evidence of an unprospering suit.
But Del went a step farther, and drew the corollary that St. Vincent
was the cause of it all. Several times he had seen the correspondent
with Frona, going one place and another, and was duly incensed thereat.
"I'll fix 'm yet!" he muttered in camp one evening, over on Gold Bottom.
"Whom?" Corliss queried.
"Who? That newspaper man, that's who!"
"What for?"
"Aw--general principles. Why'n't you let me paste 'm that night at the
Opera House?"
Corliss laughed at the recollection. "Why did you strike him, Del?"
"General principles," Del snapped back and shut up.
But Del Bishop, for all his punitive spirit, did not neglect the main
chance, and on the return trip, when they came to the forks of Eldorado
and Bonanza, he called a halt.
"Say, Corliss," he began at once, "d'you know what a hunch is?" His
employer nodded his comprehension. "Well, I've got one. I ain't never
asked favors of you before, but this once I want you to lay over here
till to-morrow. Seems to me my fruit ranch is 'most in sight. I can
damn near smell the oranges a-ripenin'."
"Certainly," Corliss agreed. "But better still, I'll run on down to
Dawson, and you can come in when you've finished hunching."
"Say!" Del objected. "I said it was a hunch; and I want to ring you in
on it, savve? You're all right, and you've learned a hell of a lot out
of books. You're a regular high-roller when it comes to the
laboratory, and all that; but it takes yours truly to get down and read
the face of nature without spectacles. Now I've got a theory--"
Corliss threw up his hands in affected dismay, and the pocket-miner
began to grow angry.
"That's right! Laugh! But it's built right up on your own pet theory
of erosion and changed riverbeds. And I didn't pocket among the
Mexicans two years for nothin'. Where d'you s'pose this Eldorado gold
came from?--rough, and no signs of washin'? Eh? There's where you
need your spectacles. Books have made you short-sighted. But never
mind how. 'Tisn't exactly pockets, neither, but I know what I'm
spelling about. I ain't been keepin' tab on traces for my health. I
can tell you mining sharps more about the lay of Eldorado Creek in one
minute than you could figure out in a month of Sundays. But never
mind, no offence. You lay over with me till to-morrow, and you can buy
a ranch 'longside of mine, sure." "Well, all right. I can rest up and
look over my notes while you're hunting your ancient river-bed."
"Didn't I tell you it was a hunch?" Del reproachfully demanded.
"And haven't I agreed to stop over? What more do you want?"
"To give you a fruit ranch, that's what! Just to go with me and nose
round a bit, that's all."
"I do not want any of your impossible fruit ranches. I'm tired and
worried; can't you leave me alone? I think I am more than fair when I
humor you to the extent of stopping over. You may waste your time
nosing around, but I shall stay in camp. Understand?"
"Burn my body, but you're grateful! By the Jumpin' Methuselah, I'll
quit my job in two minutes if you don't fire me. Me a-layin' 'wake
nights and workin' up my theory, and calculatin' on lettin' you in, and
you a-snorin' and Frona-this and Frona-that--"
"That'll do! Stop it!"
"The hell it will! If I didn't know more about gold-mining than you do
about courtin'--"
Corliss sprang at him, but Del dodged to one side and put up his fists.
Then he ducked a wild right and left swing and side-stepped his way
into firmer footing on the hard trail.
"Hold on a moment," he cried, as Corliss made to come at him again.
"Just a second. If I lick you, will you come up the hillside with me?"
"Yes."
"And if I don't, you can fire me. That's fair. Come on."
Vance had no show whatever, as Del well knew, who played with him,
feinting, attacking, retreating, dazzling, and disappearing every now
and again out of his field of vision in a most exasperating way. As
Vance speedily discovered, he possessed very little correlation between
mind and body, and the next thing he discovered was that he was lying
in the snow and slowly coming back to his senses.
"How--how did you do it?" he stammered to the pocket-miner, who had his
head on his knee and was rubbing his forehead with snow.
"Oh, you'll do!" Del laughed, helping him limply to his feet. "You're
the right stuff. I'll show you some time. You've got lots to learn
yet what you won't find in books. But not now. We've got to wade in
and make camp, then you're comin' up the hill with me."
"Hee! hee!" he chuckled later, as they fitted the pipe of the Yukon
stove. "Slow sighted and short. Couldn't follow me, eh? But I'll
show you some time, oh, I'll show you all right, all right!"
"Grab an axe an' come on," he commanded when the camp was completed.
He led the way up Eldorado, borrowed a pick, shovel, and pan at a
cabin, and headed up among the benches near the mouth of French Creek.
Vance, though feeling somewhat sore, was laughing at himself by this
time and enjoying the situation. He exaggerated the humility with
which he walked at the heel of his conqueror, while the extravagant
servility which marked his obedience to his hired man made that
individual grin.
"You'll do. You've got the makin's in you!" Del threw down the tools
and scanned the run of the snow-surface carefully. "Here, take the
axe, shinny up the hill, and lug me down some _skookum_ dry wood."
By the time Corliss returned with the last load of wood, the
pocket-miner had cleared away the snow and moss in divers spots, and
formed, in general design, a rude cross.
"Cuttin' her both ways," he explained. "Mebbe I'll hit her here, or
over there, or up above; but if there's anything in the hunch, this is
the place. Bedrock dips in above, and it's deep there and most likely
richer, but too much work. This is the rim of the bench. Can't be
more'n a couple of feet down. All we want is indications; afterwards
we can tap in from the side."
As he talked, he started fires here and there on the uncovered spaces.
"But look here, Corliss, I want you to mind this ain't pocketin'. This
is just plain ordinary 'prentice work; but pocketin'"--he straightened
up his back and spoke reverently--"but pocketin' is the deepest science
and the finest art. Delicate to a hair's-breadth, hand and eye true
and steady as steel. When you've got to burn your pan blue-black twice
a day, and out of a shovelful of gravel wash down to the one wee speck
of flour gold,--why, that's washin', that's what it is. Tell you what,
I'd sooner follow a pocket than eat."
"And you would sooner fight than do either." Bishop stopped to
consider. He weighed himself with care equal to that of retaining the
one wee speck of flour gold. "No, I wouldn't, neither. I'd take
pocketin' in mine every time. It's as bad as dope; Corliss, sure. If
it once gets a-hold of you, you're a goner. You'll never shake it.
Look at me! And talk about pipe-dreams; they can't burn a candle
'longside of it."
He walked over and kicked one of the fires apart. Then he lifted the
pick, and the steel point drove in and stopped with a metallic clang,
as though brought up by solid cement.
"Ain't thawed two inches," he muttered, stooping down and groping with
his fingers in the wet muck. The blades of last year's grass had been
burned away, but he managed to gather up and tear away a handful of the
roots.
"Hell!"
"What's the matter?" Corliss asked.
"Hell!" he repeated in a passionless way, knocking the dirt-covered
roots against the pan.
Corliss went over and stooped to closer inspection. "Hold on!" he
cried, picking up two or three grimy bits of dirt and rubbing them with
his fingers. A bright yellow flashed forth.
"Hell!" the pocket-miner reiterated tonelessly. "First rattle out the
box. Begins at the grass roots and goes all the way down."
Head turned to the side and up, eyes closed, nostrils distended and
quivering, he rose suddenly to his feet and sniffed the air. Corliss
looked up wonderingly.
"Huh!" the pocket-miner grunted. Then he drew a deep breath. "Can't
you smell them oranges?"