BIBLE-BACK MURRAY
As a matter of form Denver went with the Professor and inspected his
boasted mine but all the time his mind was far away and his heart was
beating fast. The vein of silver that Bunker Hill had shown him was
worth a thousand dollars anywhere; but, situated as it was on the next
claim to the Lost Burro, it was worth incalculably more. It was too good
a claim to let get away and as he listened perfunctorily to the
Professor's patter he planned how he would open it up. First he would
shoot off the face, to be sure there was no salting, and send off some
samples to the assayer; and then he would drive straight in on the vein
as long as his money lasted. And if it widened out, if it dipped and
went down, he would know for a certainty that it was the silver treasure
that good old Mother Trigedgo had prophesied. But to carry out the
prophecy, to choose well between the two, he gazed gravely at the
Professor's strip of gold-ore.
It was a knife-blade stringer, a mere seam of rotten quartz running
along the side of a canyon; and yet not without its elements of promise,
for it was located near another big fault. In geological days the
rim-rock had been rent here as it had at Queen Creek Canyon and this
stringer of quartz might lead to a golden treasure that would far
surpass Bunker's silver. But the signs were all against it and as Denver
turned back the Professor read the answer in his eyes.
"Vell, vat you t'ink?" he demanded insistently, "vas I right or vas I
wrong? Ain't I showed you the golt--and I'll tell you anodder t'ing, dis
mine vill pay from the start. You can pick out dat rich quartz and pack
it down to the crick and vash out the pure quill golt; but dat ore of
Old Bunk's is all mixed oop with lead and zinc, and with antimonia too.
You vil haf to buy the sacks, and pay the freight, and the smelter
charges, too; and dese custom smelters they penalize you for everyt'ing,
and cheat you out of what's left. Dey're nutting but a bunch of t'ieves
and robbers----"
"Aw, that's all right," broke in Denver impatiently, "for cripe's sake,
give me a chance. I haven't bought your mine nor Bunk's mine either, and
it don't do any good to talk. I'm going to rake this country with a
fine-tooth comb for claims that show silver and gold, and when I've seen
'em all I'll buy or I won't, so you might as well let me alone."
"Very vell, sir," began the Professor bristling with offended dignity
and, seeing him prepared with a long-winded explanation, Denver turned
up the hill and quit him. He clambered up to the rim, dripping with
sweat at every step, and all that day, while the heat waves blazed and
shimmered, he prospected the face of the rim-rock. The hot stones burned
his hands, he fought his way through thorns and catclaws and climbed
around yuccas and spiny cactus; but at the end of the long day, when he
dragged back to camp, he had found nothing but barren holes. The country
was pitted with open cuts and shallow prospect-holes, mostly dug to hold
down worthless claims; and the second day and the third only served to
raise his opinion of the claim that Bunker had showed him.
On the fourth day he went back to it and prospected it thoroughly and
then he kept on around the shoulder of the hill and entered the country
to the north. Here the sedimentary rim-rock lay open as a book and as he
followed along its face he found hole after hole pecked into one
copper-stained stratum. It was the same broad stratum of quartzite
which, on coming to the creek, had dipped down into Bunker's claim; and
now Denver knew that others beside himself thought well of that
mineral-bearing vein. For the country was staked out regularly and in
each location monument there was the name Barney B. Murray.
The steady panting of a gas-engine from somewhere in the distance drew
Denver on from point to point and at last, in the bottom of a deep-cleft
canyon, he discovered the source of the sound. Huge dumps of white waste
were spewed out along the hillside, there were houses, a big tent and
criss-crossed trails; but the only sign of life was that _chuh_,
_chuh_, of the engine and the explosive _blap_, _blaps_
of an air compressor. It was Murray's camp, and the engine and the
compressor were driving his diamond drill.
Denver looked about carefully for some sign of the armed guard and then,
not too noisily, he went down the trail and followed along up the gulch.
The drill, which was concealed beneath the big, conical tent, was set up
in the very notch of the canyon, where it cut through the formation of
the rim-rock; and Denver was more than pleased to see that it was fairly
on top of the green quartzite. He kept on steadily, still looking for
the guard, his prospector's pick well in front; and, just down the trail
from the tented drill, he stopped and cracked a rock.
"Hey! Get off this ground!" shouted a voice from the tent and as Denver
looked up a man stepped out with a rifle in his hand. "What are you
doing around here?" he demanded angrily and, as Denver made no answer,
another man stepped out from behind. Then with a word to the guard he
came down the trail and Denver knew it was Murray himself.
He was a tall, bony man with a flowing black beard and, hunched up above
his shoulders, was the rounded hump which had given him the name of
"Bible-Back." To counterbalance this curvature his head was craned back,
giving him a bristling, aggressive air, and as he strode down towards
Denver his long, gorilla arms, extended almost down to his knees.
"What are you doing here, young man?" he challenged harshly, "don't you
know that this ground is closed?"
"Why, no," bluffed Denver, "you haven't got any signs out. What's all
the excitement about?"
Bible-Back Murray paused and looked him over, and his prospector's pick
and ore-sack, and a glint came into one eye. The other eye remained
fixed in a cold, rheumy stare, and Denver sensed that it was made of
glass.
"Who are you working for?" rasped Murray and as he raised his voice the
guard started down the dump.
"I'm not working for anybody," answered Denver boldly, "I'm out
prospecting along the edge of the rim."
"Oh--prospecting," said Murray suddenly moderating his voice; and then,
as the guard stood watching them narrowly, he gave way to a fatherly
smile. "Well, well," he exclaimed, "it's pretty hot for prospecting--you
can't see very well in this glare. Whereabouts have you made your camp?"
"Over on the crick," answered Denver. "What have you got here, anyway?
Is this that diamond drill?"
"Never mind, now!" put in the guard who, anticipating a call-down for
his negligence, was in a distinctly hostile mood, "you know danged well
it is!"
"Oh, I do, do I?" retorted Denver, "well, all right pardner, if you say
so; but you don't need to call me a liar!"
He returned the guard's glare with an insulting sneer and Murray made
haste to intercede.
"Now, now," he said, "let's not have any trouble. But of course you've
no business on this ground."
"That's all right," defended Denver, "that don't give him a license to
pull any ranicky stuff. I'm as peaceable as anybody, but you can tell
your hired man he don't look bad to me."
"That will do, Dave," nodded Murray and after another look at Denver,
the guard turned back towards the tent.
"Judas priest," observed Denver thrusting out his lip at the guard,
"he's a regular gun-fighting boy. You must have something pretty good
hid away here somewhere, to call for a guard like that."
"He's a dangerous man," replied Murray briefly, "I'd advise you not to
rouse him. But what do you think of our district, Mister--er----"
"Russell," said Denver promptly, "my name is Denver Russell. I just came
over from Globe."
"Glad to meet you," answered Murray extending a hairy hand, "my name is
B. B. Murray. I'm the owner of all this ground."
"'S that so?" murmured Denver, "well don't let me keep you."
And he started off down the trail.
"Hey, wait a minute!" protested Murray, "you don't need to go off mad.
Sit down here in the shade--I want to have a talk with you."
He stepped over to the shade of an abandoned cabin and Denver followed
reluctantly. From the few leading questions which Mr. Murray had
propounded he judged he was a hard man to evade; and, until he had got
title to the claim on Queen Creek, it was advisable not to talk too
much.
"So you're just over from Globe, eh?" began Murray affably, "well, how
are things over in that camp? Yes, I hear they are booming--were you
working in the mines? What do you think of this country for copper?"
"It sure looks _good_!" pronounced Denver unctuously, "I never saw
a place that looked better. All this gossan and porphyry, and that
copper stain up there--and just look at that dacite cap!"
He waved his hand at the high cliff behind and Murray's eye became beady
and bright.
"Yes," he said rubbing his horny hands together and gazing at Denver
benevolently, "we think the indications are good--were you thinking of
locating in these parts?"
"No, just going through," answered Denver slowly. "I was camping by the
crick and saw that copper-stain, so I thought I'd follow it up. How far
are you down with your drill?"
"Quite a ways, quite a ways," responded Murray evasively. "You don't
look like an ordinary prospector--who'd you say it was you were working
for?"
Denver turned and looked at him, and grunted contemptuously.
"J. P. Morgan," he said and after a silence Murray answered with a
thin-lipped smile.
"That's all right, that's all right," he said with a cackle. "No hard
feeling--I just wanted to know. You're an honest young man, but there
are others who are not, and we naturally like to inquire. Are you
staying with Mr. Hill?"
"Well, not so you'd notice it," replied Denver brusquely. "I'm camped in
that cave across the crick."
"Oh, is that so?" purred Murray driving relentlessly on in his quest for
information, "did he show you any of his claims?"
"He showed me one," answered Denver and, try as he would, he could not
keep his voice from changing.
"Oh, I see," said Murray suddenly smiling triumphantly, "he showed you
that claim by the creek."
"That's the one," admitted Denver, "and it sure looked good. Have you
got any interests over there?"
"Not at present," returned Murray with a touch of asperity, "but let me
tell you a little about that claim. You're a stranger in these parts and
it's only fair to warn you that the assessment work has never been done.
He has no title, according to law; so you can govern your actions
accordingly."
"You mean," suggested Denver, "that all I have to do is to go in and
jump the claim?"
"Hell--no!" exclaimed Bible-Back startled out of his piosity. "I mean
that you had better not buy it."
"Well, thanks," drawled Denver, "this is danged considerate of you.
Shall I tell him you'll take it yourself?"
"Certainly not!" snapped back Murray, "I've enough claims, already. I'm
just warning you for your own good."
"Danged considerate," repeated Denver with a sarcastic smile, "and now
let me ask _you_ something. Who told you I wanted to buy?"
"Never mind!" returned Murray, "I've warned you, and that is enough."
"Well, all right," agreed Denver, "but if you don't want it
yourself----"
"Young man!" exclaimed Murray suddenly rising to his feet and crooking
his neck like a crane, "I guess you know who I am. I can make or break
any man in this country, and I'm telling you now--don't you buy!"
"I get you," answered Denver, and without arguing the point he rose up
and went down the trail.