WORK STOPPED
The next morning Ben saw a picture of himself above the title “Our Boy
Miner,” in one of the daily papers. He felt the sensationalism of it,
but he could not deny that it pleased him.
“Publicity was the penalty one had to pay for being prominent,” he told
himself. And the thought pulled him very erect, like a balloon tugging
at his neckband.
He was elated with success. All doubts which he had previously felt
about speculation being a hazardous way of making money vanished like
mists before the sun. The warnings he had heard all his life from the
wiseacres about the slow way being the sure way he now felt to be all
nonsense. Indeed, so egotistical is success, that he even wondered
that he could ever have felt any doubts.
[Illustration:
Photo by Arnold Genthe.
“_Our Boy Miner._”]
“After I’ve made my fortune, I’ll be old-fogyish and save the cents,”
he reflected. “This mining venture is quite as sure a way of making
money as clerking in a store--and much more rapid.” His attention was
attracted by something Mundon was saying to a reporter who was making a
“story” of their experience.
“O, ’taint no trouble to show you our operations,” Mundon remarked;
“no trouble at all. If ’twas a real mine underground that’d be another
thing. Folks was so curious ’bout a mine I once had up in Placer County
that I trained a dog I had to show ’em ’round. I’d fasten a candle to
a strap that went ’round his forehead and he’d take ’em all over that
mine. Got so knowin’ at last that when he’d pass any rich ore he’d
stop and bark. Sure!” He added, as the hearer’s smile proclaimed his
incredulity, “You kin put that in your paper, and I’ll vouch for it.”
“I wish Mundon wouldn’t yarn it so,” Ben said to himself. “And I wish
all these folks would go home before we make the clean-up.” He drew
Mundon aside. “Can’t you get rid of them before we melt the stuff?”
“Don’t know. They ’pear to be powerful interested in what we’re doin’,”
the other replied.
“That’s just it; they’re too much interested. We’ve got gold on both
days; but there’s no knowing how long that luck will last. Suppose we
opened the crucible some night and didn’t get anything?”
“Well, ’twouldn’t kill us if we didn’t--just once.”
“Just think what they’d say!”
Mundon smiled. “What do we care what they say?” he sturdily asserted.
“I tell you, Ben, I wouldn’t be a bit sorry if it got noised ’round
that we weren’t makin’ such a bloomin’ lot.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’d keep folks from gettin’ envious, for one thing.”
The result of the day’s work did not greatly vary from those of the
other two. About the same small quantity of gold-sponge remained in the
crucible, and the crowd seemed slightly disappointed.
“That little bit wouldn’t make anybody very envious,” remarked Ben. “In
fact, I doubt if most people would work as hard as we have for it.”
“You think it wouldn’t; but you don’t know much ’bout envy, and you
don’t know men. This is the stuff,” Mundon said, as he carefully took
the gold from the crucible, “be it much or little of it, that makes
wild beasts of men. ’Most all the sins that make a man into a beast can
be laid to this pretty shinin’ dirt.”
On the afternoon of the fourth day Ben and Mundon were working like
beavers.
“’Bout five minutes now, and we’ll take out the amalgam,” Mundon
remarked. “I b’lieve it’ll carry more than twice as much as
yesterday’s. Somehow, the stuff shined more when we broke it up. I
reckon I’ve got ’bout a quarter of the chimney chipped.”
“That’s slick,” said Ben. “When do you think we’d better tackle the
ground?”
“O, that’ll keep till we’re through with the chimney. You see, a good
deal works through the cracks now, and we kin make a thorough clean-up
afterwards. I b’lieve there’s lots of copper as well as gold and silver
in that slag under the old wharf.”
“You do?”
“I’m ’most as certain of it as I am of the chimney. If we make as much
as the opium brought, I s’pose you’ll be satisfied?”
“That would be good enough.”
“Queer them smuggler fellers never showed up, ain’t it? The more I
think of it the more certain I am that that was what the burglar was
after.”
“But we couldn’t find any traces of the drug.”
“Mebbe he got it before we run out. Well, most likely some one of those
Government chaps warned ’em not to come here while the watch was bein’
kept up. There’s gen’rally some one gits wind of such a plan in time
to make fools of the rest. I s’pose the temptation to be tricky is too
much for ’em.”
“Yes. And I suppose there are many temptations to a man in such a
position.”
“Bless you! I guess there is! There’s lots of men who’d be square
enough, if they was let alone; but put ’em in a place where there’s a
chance to cheat and some one to show ’em the way, and they don’t need
no coaxin’. Did you suspicion any of ’em in partic’lar?”
“Well,” Ben hesitated, “it’s an awful mean thing to say about a man
when you’ve got no proof,”--he dropped his voice,--“but you know I
didn’t like the man who was put in charge of the case.”
“What’s his name?”
“Cutter. I couldn’t help feeling that he wasn’t straight. He didn’t
seem sincere.”
“He wasn’t ’round here at all, was he?”
“No. But there wasn’t any need of his coming. He just stays in the
office and directs others. How easily he could warn the men who stowed
away the stuff here not to come after it!”
“They made me mad with their suspicions!” Mundon exclaimed. “I
should think that ’sperience would have taught ’em to suspect one
of theirselves sooner than us. ’Twas only one man as showed any
suspicions outright, and like as not he was one of the rogues himself.
I was half a mind to tell him so once, but I knowed ’twouldn’t do no
good.”
“Not a bit,” Ben agreed; “and it might do harm.”
“Mining’s a curious business. It’s the only business on earth, though,
where you ain’t cuttin’ the ground away from under some other man’s
feet. You’re just a-gettin’ somethin’ that everybody wants and needs,
and, consequently, everybody’s glad you’re gettin’ it. It’s a gamble,
and that’s why it’s so thunderin’ fascinatin’. There’s one drawback,
though; it makes a man distrustful of his kind,--I s’pose ’cause it’s
so mighty easy to get fooled. An old miner doesn’t b’lieve in any one
but just himself--from principle. It’s astonishin’, how completely he
kin pin his faith to rocks, and how he balks when it comes to tryin’
it on human nature.”
“Father wasn’t much so,” remarked Ben; “but he was an exception, I
suppose.”
“He wasn’t rich, was he?”
“No; although he often thought he was. His riches never came near
enough to capture.”
“That’s it, you see. But you take an old miner who’s made his fortunes,
and lost ’em through havin’ salted mines worked off on him,--if he
ain’t the scariest bird ever seen! Talk about saltin’ a bird’s tail!
Why, he wouldn’t trust his own twin brother!”
“Well, there’s no danger of ours being salted.”
“No; ’cause ’twasn’t thought to be a mine. I’ve seen some queer tricks
played in that line. Once I knew a man who went to look at a mine. He
saw the samples taken from all over the mine, put ’em in canvas bags
himself, and never took his eyes off these bags till they was sealed
up with his private seal. Just as the rest of the party was gettin’
into the stage to leave, the man who was a-thinkin’ of buyin’ the mine
had a kind of a feelin’ that he’d ben fooled. He couldn’t explain it
nohow, but he just had that feelin’. So, he wouldn’t get on that stage,
but he went all over the mine a second time and took another set of
samples. Well, the assays told the story. The first set went more’n a
hundred dollars to the ton, and the last set went less ’n a dollar.”
“How did they break the seals?”
“They didn’t break ’em. They salted the bags after he sealed ’em by
squeezin’ a quill toothpick through the canvas and blowin’ gold-dust
into ’em. I don’t wonder that----”
Mundon was interrupted by a pounding on the gates.
“I’ll go,” said Ben.
When he had unfastened the gates, two men walked into the yard. The
first handed Ben a paper.
“What does this mean?” Ben wonderingly asked. He did not at first
comprehend the meaning of the proceeding, but his eye caught the word
“injunction,” and he knew that meant “stop.”
“It’s an injunction served upon you,” the man replied.
“Are you an officer?”
“I am.”
“What ground--” Ben stopped, for he felt his voice tremble.
“It’s to compel you to stop working another man’s property.”
“But I bought the right to work it--from the owner!” Ben cried.
“That he did,” Mundon spoke up stoutly, “and I signed as a witness.”
“Where is the owner? Where is old Madge? I’ve got his signature to the
paper! He can’t go back on that!” the boy exclaimed. “He’s done this
from spite, because I refused to take him into partnership!”
“Don’t get excited,” the officer said. “Mr. Madge has nothing to do
with this.”
There was an angry light in Ben’s eyes.
“Well, who has, then?” he defiantly inquired.
“I have,” the other man replied.
He had not spoken before, and he seemed to enjoy the boy’s distress.
He was a small man, shabbily dressed, and there was nothing about his
appearance to indicate that he could be possessed of wealth.
He paused after those two words and appeared to relish prolonging the
suspense.
Ben turned upon him. “What have you got to do with it?” he asked.
“I happen to be the owner of the land--and improvements.”
“But you leased it, and the lease does not expire until next November.
The improvements belong to the man who leased the land and put them on
it.”
“The lease expired a month ago.”
“That is false!” Ben’s indignation was so great that he could hardly
speak.
“Mr. Madge told us that the lease ran for thirty-five years, and
commenced in November, 1866!”
“That was the date on which the building was commenced; the lease dated
from four months earlier.”
Ben turned to Mundon sick at heart. “Can’t you remember what he said
when I filled in the dates?”
“He said the first pile for the buildin’ was drove in November, 1866;
but he meant fur us to think that were the date of the lease, too.
’Pears like we’ve ben taken in, Ben.”
“The building belongs to me and the rubbish that’s here. I’ve paid for
it fairly and squarely, and it’s only right that I should be allowed
to work here until November. I bought the right to do it.”
“We’re not talking about any rights now, young man, except those the
law allows,” the owner remarked with a dryness that was irritating.
“You can’t trespass on another man’s property to work anything.” He
turned to Mundon, who was bending over the “jigger.” “Stop that! That’s
mine!” he cried.
Mundon straightened himself. In his hand he held a wide-mouthed bottle
partly filled with amalgam.
“No, it ain’t,” he replied. “It b’longs to this young man. He’d just
about finished with his day’s work when you came in,--and it b’longs to
him.”
“I’ve got the law on my side. He can’t take anything off this
property--my property--_now_.”
“Well then,” responded Mundon, setting the bottle on the floor of the
“jigger,” “neither kin you. If you touch this stuff before this thing’s
settled, I’ll have the law on you.”
The two men looked at each other for a moment.
Then Mundon drew Ben aside. “’Tain’t no use talkin’ to him. I
know him--his name’s Fish and he’s a reg’lar old shark. Rich as
anythin’--owns piles of tenements and grinds his tenants down ter their
marrer bones. I saw him nosin’ ’round here on the day we made our first
clean-up. The question is, What are you goin’ to do?”
“O, I don’t know!” Ben cried in despair.
The two strangers were leisurely surveying the arastra and its contents.
“Know any lawyer?” Mundon asked.
“No.”
A recollection of Mr. Hale, who had been in the Collector’s office on
the day of his visit, flashed before him. He believed him to be the
great lawyer of whom he had heard. He had appeared interested in the
venture, if skeptical; and since then the scheme had proved a success.
Ben was thinking very hard.
“’Cause if you do,” Mundon continued, “he might find some hole fur us
to crawl out of.”
This view of the situation was humiliating, but Ben was forced to
accept it.
“Stay here and watch things, while I go down town and see what can be
done,” he answered. He was angrier than he had ever been in his life.
The injustice of being made a victim of fraud seemed to sear his spirit
like hot iron. To be tricked, cheated, and have no redress was such a
monstrous wrong!
“To think,” he said to himself on his way down-town, “how I resisted
the temptation not to tell old Madge my whole plan! This is the reward
I get for being too conscientious. I ought not to have told a soul!”
Bitter thoughts crowded fast upon him as he hurried along. He
recalled a conversation he had once heard between two young men.
One had said that there was not a rich man living who had acquired
his wealth--unless it had been inherited--honestly and with a clear
conscience. Ben had been impressed with this statement and had repeated
it to his father, who had denounced it as false. “There are plenty of
knaves among rich men, but there are honest men, too,” his father had
said. “It must have been a poor man, envious of the wealth of others
who said that thing.”
Still, Ben reflected that his father had been a poor man, credulous,
trusting in all men, to his own disadvantage sometimes.
“In order to get on in the world was it necessary to deceive and
cheat?” the boy questioned. “No, it isn’t true!” he exclaimed aloud,
causing the passers-by to regard him curiously. “I’d rather be in
my place and know that I’ve done the square thing than be in his! I
wouldn’t stain my immortal soul for gold!”
Sustained by this thought, he found courage to make his appeal.
Mr. Hale was in his office, and in a few words Ben told him what had
happened.
“So, you’ve come to grief already, my boy,” the lawyer said. “Well,
let’s see what can be done.”
He asked Ben a few questions and dispatched a messenger to the City
Hall to search for the recording of the lease.
“Now, go home and wait,” he said in conclusion. “And don’t worry about
it any more than you can help.”
“Thank you. About paying you, Mr. Hale,--” Ben began, but the other
interrupted him.
“Never mind about that. I don’t expect any pay. I sometimes do things
for pure love of humanity. Queer way to do business, isn’t it? But I
made my own way in the world, boy, and I know what it is. Why, when I
first went in for law, it was like climbing a greased pole backwards.”
Ben left the office with a lighter heart; as, indeed, did most people.
Like them, too, he had a conviction that the lawyer would find a way
out of the dilemma.
Mr. Hale had told Ben that he had no right to occupy or work the
property while the injunction was pending; so he hastened back to
consult with Mundon as to the best course to be pursued.
He found the latter disconsolately sitting upon the fence. The mule was
tied to a post alongside, and the pair presented a sorry appearance.
The men had departed, Mundon said, after nailing up the gates.
The partners agreed to take turns in keeping guard over the premises
until the result of Mr. Hale’s search was known; and it was decided
that Ben should take the first night.
“It’s exasperating not to know how much there is in the amalgam. In all
justice, it’s mine!” said Ben, with flashing eyes. “And I intend to
watch it,--and fight for it too, if need be.”
“You’ve got to fight such mean sneaks with one weapon--and only
one--and that’s the law,” remarked Mundon, carefully whittling a stick
he held. “There ain’t no other way you kin git the best of ’em.” He
pointed up the hillside. “There’s your cousin now. She’s ben down here
askin’ after you.”
“Come out on the Point for a while, Ben,” said Beth. “It will rest you.”
With a grave face he joined her, and they slowly walked along the beach.