THE ORACULUM
The palpitating heat lay like a shimmering fleece over the deserted camp
of Pinal and Denver Russell, returning from Globe, beheld it as one in a
dream. Somewhere within the shadow of Apache Leap were two treasures
that he was destined to find, one of gold and one of silver; and if he
chose wisely between them they were both to be his. And if he chose
unwisely, or tried to hold them both, then both would be lost and he
would suffer humiliation and shame. Yet he came back boldly, fresh from
a visit with Mother Trigedgo who had blessed him and called him her son.
She had wept when they parted, for her burdens had been heavy and his
gift had lightened her lot; but though she wished him well she could not
control his fate, for that lay with the powers above. Nor could she
conceal from him the portion of evil which was balanced against the
good.
"Courage and constancy will attend you through life'" she had written in
her old-country scrawl; "but in the end will prove your undoing, for you
will meet your death at the hands of your dearest friend."
That was the doom that hung over him like a hair-suspended sword--to be
killed by his dearest friend--and as he paused at the mouth of Queen
Creek Canyon he wished that his fortune had not been told. Of what good
to him would be the two hidden treasures--or even the beautiful young
artist with whom he was destined to fall in love--if his life might be
cut off at any moment by some man that he counted his friend?
_When_ his death should befall, Mother Trigedgo had not told, for
the signs had been obscure; but when it did come it would be by the hand
of the man that he called his best friend. A swift surge of resistance
came over him again as he gazed at the promised land and he shut his
teeth down fiercely. He would have no friends, no best of friends, but
all men that he met he would treat the same and so evade the harsh hand
of fate. Forewarned was forearmed, he would have no more pardners such
as men pick up in rambling around; but in this as in all else he would
play a lone hand and so postpone the evil day.
He strode on down the trail into the silent town where the houses stood
roofless and bare, and as he glanced at the ancient gallows-frame above
the abandoned mine fresh courage came into his heart. This city of the
dead should come back to life if what the stars said was true; and the
long rows of adobes now stripped of windows and doors, would awaken to
the tramp of miners' boots. He would find two treasures and, if he chose
well between them, both the silver and the gold would be his. But
neither wily Bunker Hill nor the palavering Professor should pull him
this way or that; for Mother Trigedgo had given him a book, to consult
on all important occasions. It was Napoleon's Oraculum, or Book of Fate;
and as Denver had glanced at the key--with its thirty-two questions
covering every important event in human life--a thrill of security had
passed over him. With this mysterious Oraculum, the Man of Destiny had
solved the many problems of his life; and in question thirteen, that
sinister number, was a test that would serve Denver well:
"Will the FRIEND I most reckon upon prove faithful or treacherous?"
How many times must that great, aloof man have put some friend's loyalty
to the test; and if the answer was in the negative how often had he
avoided death by foreknowledge of impending treachery! Yet such friends
as he had retained had all proved loyal, his generals had been devoted
to his cause; and with the aid of his Oraculum he had conquered all his
enemies--until at last the Book of Fate had been lost. At the battle of
Leipsic, in the confusion of the retreat, his precious Dream Book had
been left behind. Kings and Emperors had used it since, and seeresses as
well; and now, after the lapse of a hundred years, it was published in
quaint cover and lettering, for the guidance of all and sundry. And Old
Mother Trigedgo, coming all the way from Cornwall, had placed the Book
of Fate in his hands! There was destiny in everything, and this woman
who had saved his life could save it again with her Oraculum.
Denver turned to the Mexican who, with two heavily-packed mules, stood
patiently awaiting his pleasure; and with a brief nod of the head he
strode down the trail while the mules minced along behind him. Past the
old, worked-out mine, past the melted-down walls of abandoned adobe
ruins, he led on to the store and the cool, darkened house which
sheltered the family of Andrew Hill; but even here he did not stop,
though Old Bunk beckoned him in. His life, which had once been as other
people's lives, had been touched by the hand of fate; and gayeties and
good cheer, along with friendship and love, had been banished to the
limbo of lost dreams. So he turned across the creek and led the way to
the cave that was destined to be his home.
It was an ancient cavern beneath the rim of a low cliff which overlooked
the town and as Denver was helping to unlash the packs Bunker Hill came
toiling up the trail.
"Got back, hey?" he greeted stepping into the smoke-blackened cave and
gazing dubiously about, "well, it'll be cool inside here, anyway."
"Yes, that's what I figured on," responded Denver briefly, and as he
cleaned out the rats' nests and began to make camp Old Bunk sat down in
the doorway and began a new cycle of stories.
"This here cave," he observed, "used to be occupied by the
cliff-dwellers--them's their hand-marks, up on the wall; and then I
reckon the Apaches moved in, and after them the soldiers; but when the
Lost Burro began turning out the ore, I'll bet it was crowded like a
bar-room. Them was the days, I'm telling you--you couldn't walk the
street for miners out spending their money--and a cliff-house like this
with a good, tight roof, would bring in a hundred dollars a night, any
time that it happened to rain. All them melted-down adobes was plumb
full of people, the saloons were running full blast, and the miner that
couldn't steal ten dollars a day had no business working underground.
They took out chunks of native silver as big as your head, and it all
ran a thousand ounces to the ton, but even at that them worthless
mule-skinners was throwing pure silver at their teams. They had mounted
guards to ride along with the wagons and keep them from stealing the
ore, but you can pick up chunks yet where them teamsters threw them off
and never went back to find 'em.
"Did you ever hear how the Lost Burro was found? Well, the name, of
course, tells the story. If one of these prospectors goes out to find
his burros he runs across a mine; and if he goes out the next day to
look for another mine he runs across his burros. The most of them are
like the old Professor down here, they wouldn't know mineral if they saw
it; but of course when they grab up a chunk of pure silver and start to
throw it at a jackass they can't help taking notice. Well, that's the
way this mine was found. A prospector that was camping here went up on
that little hill to rock his old burro back to camp and right on top he
found a piece of silver that was so pure you could cut it with your
knife. That guy was honest, he gave the credit to his burro, and, if the
truth was known, half the mines in the west would be named after some
knot-headed jackass. That's how much intellect it takes to be a
prospector."
"No, I'll tell you what's the matter with these prospectors," returned
Denver with a miner's scorn, "they do everything in the world but dig.
They'll hike, and hunt burros and go out across the desert; but anything
that calls for a few taps of work they'll pass it right up, every time.
And I'll tell you, old-timer, all the mines on top of ground have been
located long ago. That's why you hear so much about 'Swede luck' these
days--the Swede ain't too lazy to sink.
"That's my motto--sink! Get down to bed-rock and see what there is on
the bottom; but these danged prospectors just hang around the
water-holes and play pedro until they eat up their grub-stakes."
"Heh, heh; that's right," responded Bunker reminiscently, "say, did you
ever hear of old Abe Berg? He used to keep a store down below in Moroni;
and there was one of these old prospectors that made a living that way,
used to touch him up regular for a grub-stake. Old Abe was about as easy
as Bible-Back Murray when you showed him a rich piece of ore and after
this prospector had et up all his grub he'd drift back to town for more.
But on the way in, like all of them fellers, he'd stop at some real good
mine; and after he'd stole a few chunks of high-grade ore he'd take it
along to show to Abe. But after a while Old Abe got suspicious--he
didn't fall for them big stories any more--and at last he began to
enquire just where this bonanza was, that the prospector was reporting
on so favorable. Well, the feller told him and Abe he scratched his head
and enquired the name of the mine.
"'Why, I call it the Juniper,' says the old prospector kind of innocent;
and Abe he jumped right up in the air.
"'Vell, dat's all right,' he yells, tapping himself on the chest, 'but
here's one Jew, I betcher, dat you von't nip again!' Get the point--he
thought the old prospector was making a joke of it and calling his mine
the Jew-Nipper!"
"Yeah, I'm hep," replied Russell, "say who is this feller that you call
Bible-Back Murray--has he got any claims around here?"
"Claims!" repeated Bunker, "well, I guess he has. He's got a hundred if
I've got one--this whole upper district is located."
"What--this whole country?" exclaimed Denver in sudden dismay, "the
whole range of hills--all that lays in the shadow of the Leap?"
"Jest about," admitted Bunker, "but as I told you before, you can have
any of mine for five hundred."
"Oh hell," burst out Denver and then he roused up and a challenge crept
into his voice. "Do you mean to tell me," he said, "that he's kept up
his assessment work? Has he done a hundred dollars worth of work on
every claim? No, you know danged well he hasn't--you've just been doing
lead-pencil work."
"That's all right," returned Bunker, "we've got a gentlemen's agreement
to respect each others monuments; and you'll find our sworn statements
that the work has been done on file with the County Recorder."
"Yes, and now I know," grumbled Russell rebelliously, "why the whole
danged district is dead. You and Murray and this old Dutchman have
located all the ground and you're none of you doing any work. But when a
miner like me blows into the camp and wants to prospect around he's
stuck for five hundred dollars. How'm I going to buy my powder and a
little grub and steel if I give up my roll at the start? No, I'll look
this country over and if I find what I want----"
"You'll pay for it, young man," put in Bunker Hill pointedly, "that is,
if it belongs to me."
"Well, I will if it's worth it," answered Russell grudgingly, "but
you've got to show me your title."
"Sure I will," agreed Bunker, "the best title a man can have--continuous
and undisputed possession. I've been here fifteen years and I've never
had a claim jumped yet."
"Who's this Bible-Back Murray?" demanded Denver, "has he got a clean
title to his ground?"
"You bet he has," replied Bunker Hill, "and he's got my name as a
witness that his yearly assessment work's been done."
"And you, I suppose," suggested Denver sarcastically, "have got
_his_ name, as an affidavit man, to prove that _your_ work has
been done. And when I look around I'll bet there ain't a hole anywhere
that's been sunk in the last two years."
"Yes there is!" contradicted Bunker, "you go right up that wash that
comes down from them north hills and you'll find one that's down twelve
hundred feet. And there's a diamond drill outfit sinking twenty feet a
day, and has been for the last six months. At five dollars a
foot--that's the contract price--Old Bible-Back is paying a hundred
dollars a day. Now--how many days will that drill have to run to do the
annual work? No, you're all right, young man, and I like your nerve, but
you don't want to take too much for granted."
"Judas priest!" exclaimed Russell, "twelve hundred feet deep? What does
the old boy think he's got?"
"He's drilling for copper," nodded Bunker significantly, "and for all
you and I know, he's got it. He's got an armed guard in charge of that
drill, and no outsider has been allowed anywhere near it for going on to
six months. The cores are all stored away in boxes where nobodv can get
their hands on them and the way old Bible-Back is sweating blood I
reckon they're close to the ore. But a hundred dollars a day--say, the
way things are now that'll make or break old Murray. He's been blowing
in money for ten or twelve years trying to develop his silver
properties; but now he's crazy as a bed-bug over copper--can't talk
about anything else."
"Is that so?" murmured Denver and as he went about his work his brain
began to seethe and whirl. Here was something he had not known of, an
element of chance which might ruin all his plans; for if the diamond
drill broke into rich copper ore his chance at the two treasures would
be lost. There would be a big rush and the price of claims would soar to
thousands of dollars. The country looked well for copper, with its heavy
cap of dacite and the manganese filling in the veins; and it was only a
day's journey in each direction from the big copper camps of Ray and
Globe. He turned impulsively and reached for his purse, but as he was
about to plank down his five hundred dollars in advance he remembered
Mother Trigedgo's words.
"Choose well between the two and both shall be yours. But if you choose
unwisely, then both will be lost and you will suffer humiliation and
shame."
"Say," blurted out Denver, "your claims are all silver--haven't you got
a gold prospect anywhere?"
"No, I haven't," answered Old Bunk, his eye on the bank-roll, "but I'll
accept a deposit on that offer. Any claim I've got--except the Lost
Burro itself--for five hundred dollars, cash."
"How long is that good for?" enquired Russell cautiously and Bunker
slapped his leg for action.
"It's good for right now," he said, "and not a minute after!"
"But I've got to look around," pleaded Denver desperately, "I've got to
find both these treasures--one of silver and one of gold--and make my
choice between them."
"Well, that's your business," said Bunker rising up abruptly. "Will you
take that offer or not?"
"No," replied Denver, putting up his purse and Old Bunk glanced at him
shrewdly.
"Well, I'll give you a week on it," he said, smiling grimly, and stood
up to look down the trail. Denver looked out after him and there,
puffing up the slope, came Professor Diffenderfer, the eminent buttinsky
and geologist.