“Uh—uh—ju-just what do yuh mean?”
“Singing,” he explains. “We got four of the kickin’est, singin’est
burros on earth. They held uh concert last night, and we was afraid it
might disturb yuh.”
“Never heard ’em,” states Forty-Dollar. He told the truth.
“Fell down uh prospect hole,” explains Lonesome, tapping his black eye
and the lump on his forehead. “The four of us imbibes uh little too much
and on our way home we fell into that hole. Sabe?”
“That’s what we heard, Ike,” says Magpie. “Did you fellers fire uh gun?”
“Accidental,” says Whispering. “Shot in the ground.”
“Must uh glanced,” remarks Ike. “Bullet went through the ears of our
burro.”
“Pshaw!” says I. “Must uh glanced.”
“This country seems to be pretty barren,” opines Magpie. “We ain’t seen
nothing promising since we came. Ain’t there no real mines around here?”
“There’s one,” says I, getting uh happy inspiration. “There is one, and
’cause it ain’t on the market you ain’t been told about it yet. It’s
called the Web uh Gold, and while it ain’t for sale—every man has his
price. She’s only been worked enough to show that one person named
Sanderson will be ranked with the idle rich some day, unless he gets
foolish and sells out.”
“Around here?” asks Magpie.
“You pronounced the locality. Free-milling to uh startling degree. Like
to see it? I ain’t trying to sell it to yuh, understand. I just wants
your expert opinion. How about tomorrow? It’s only about uh mile and uh
half from here—west. I ain’t much of uh judge, so I’d like to have yuh
tell me what yuh think of it. You fellers sure do sabe formations.”
“Uh-huh,” agrees Harper. “We’re experts on them things, and we’d admire
to pass judgment on the Web uh Gold.”
“I’ll meet yuh here tomorrow,” says I. “Now, you’re going to see uh
mine—uh honest to grandma gold mine. Sabe?”
“Well,” says Whispering, after they leaves, “they’re trusting souls,
Slim. What do yuh reckon to do?”
“It’s up to Lonesome,” says I. “I’m an honest man. You fellers sneaked
away alone to do your shooting, but I ain’t going to do it thataway. I’m
going to take Lonesome along with me, and let him load the gun—and shoot
it if he wants to.”
“Now you’re saying something,” applauds Lonesome. “Hereafter I sees
where my money goes. How much will we shoot, Slim?”
“Every danged ounce yuh got, Lonesome. We’ll give that prospect uh load
uh gold. We can’t lose. We know it’s there, and even if we don’t sell we
can pan it all out.”
“That’s uh lot uh gold, but as you say we can’t lose, Slim.”
“We’ll share the same, won’t we?” asks Whispering, anxious-like.
“Less the amount yuh shot,” states Lonesome, and they nods,
satisfied-like.
* * * * *
THE next morning at daylight me and Lonesome pulls out with that shotgun
and the poke uh gold. We sneaks up on that alleged mine like uh pair uh
burglars, and what we done to that mine was uh-plenty. It took eight
shots to deplete that poke, and then we pilgrims back for liniment. We
sure got punished for our sins.
We finds Whispering and Forty-Dollar waiting for us, and we goes into
detail.
“That’s the way I wanted to do in the first place,” complains
Whispering. “I wanted to fill her full uh gold.”
“Anybody could sell uh mine salted thataway,” says Forty-Dollar.
“Lonesome was too stingy with us.”
At noon they shows up with uh burro. That danged rocking-chair tops the
pack, and Magpie pilgrims along in the lead with his hoe like _Little Bo
Peep_. We arrives at the mine, and as usual we has uh few speeches
before breaking ground.
“Lonesome,” says I, “you not being familiar with the ground, I’d deem it
uh favor if you’d select uh pan uh dirt.”
Lonesome gets down in the hole and digs right where we filled her full
uh wealth. He hands the pan to Magpie, and we all pilgrims to the water.
Lonesome took the dirt out of the place where we buried it all, and we
know that the result will knock their hats off.
Ike sets on the bank and rocks in his chair, while Magpie squats down at
the crick and sloshes that pan. We perches on the bank and grins at each
other. It’s uh cinch. We don’t seem interested, but there ain’t one of
us but what is prepared to be awful surprised. We watches him deplete
that pan uh dirt, and waits for the finish. Pretty soon he looks
close-like at the results. He takes out his pocket-knife and digs into
the muck. He examines the point of the knife for uh minute and
straightens up.
“How does she look, Magpie?” asks Ike.
“Trace,” says Magpie. “Bare trace, Ike.”
“Trace ——!” yelps Lonesome. “Trace? Let me have that pan!”
The four of us comes to uh common center and grabs the pan. Barren! Not
uh sign uh gold. We looks at Magpie, who is looking at the point of his
knife, but he only wipes it off on his leg and puts it in his pocket.
“Thought it was uh little color,” he explains. “Too small to tell.”
Lonesome looks that pan all over and drops it in the crick.
“I reckon we might as well go to some other locality,” observes Magpie.
“All we’ve found is uh trace, and uh man can’t never get to be uh mining
king on traces.”
We strings out in single file, four of us limping a heap, and pilgrims
back to Painted Post. We ain’t talkative uh-tall. Magpie and Ike goes
over to their cabin to get their other burros, and we enters the saloon
once more. We sets down, sort uh tired like, and stares at each other.
Pretty soon Lonesome screws up his face and spits plumb across the room.
“——!” says he.
“The same for mine,” says I.
Lonesome sets there for uh while, deep in thought, and then turns to
Forty-Dollar.
“You and Whispering were pikers, Forty—just cheap pikers. Look what me
and Slim done. Yeah-h-h-h! Where in —— did that gold go?”
“Aw, don’t ask me!” wails Whispering, holding his head in his hands.
“Where did my gold go? Where did Forty’s gold go?”
Just then that yaller burro, with bullet holes in both ears, sticks his
head in the door and yodels another stanza, and in comes the tenderfeet.
“Going away,” says Magpie. “Like the place, but not the prospects. I’ll
buy uh drink. Me and Ike have got to strike it or go to work. We got to
eat. Sabe?”
“Haw!” grins Lonesome. “Able to write uh check for fifty thousand, and
worrying about starvation. Haw!”
“Anybody can write uh check,” grins Magpie, “but they got to have money
in the bank or she ain’t no good. Me and Ike ain’t got no bank account.
Sabe?”
“Mister Sanderson, I forgot to ask yuh if yuh got any fool-hens this
morning?” says Ike. “I seen you and Mister Larson packing uh gun, and we
hears uh lot uh shots.”