Stanley Mitchell looked hard at the long black mark; he looked out along
the south to the low line of the Gavilan Hills; he looked at the red arc
of sun peering suddenly over the Comobabi Range.
"Well--and so forth!" he said. "Here is a burn from the branding! And
what are we going to do now?"
"Wash the dishes. You do it."
"You are a light-minded and frivolous old man," said Stan. "What are we
going to do about our mine?"
"I've done told you. We--per you--are due to wash up the dishes. Do the
next thing next. That's a pretty good rule. Meantime I will superintend
and smoke and reflect."
"Do your reflecting out loud, can't you?" said Stan. His smooth forehead
wrinkled and a sudden cleft appeared between his eyebrows, witness of an
unaccustomed intentness of thought. "Say, Pete; this partnership of ours
isn't on the level. You put in half the work and all the brains."
"'Sall right," said Pete Johnson. "You furnish the luck and
personal pulchritude. That ain't all, either. I'm pickin' up some
considerable education from you, learning how to pronounce words
like that--pulchritude. I mispronounced dreadful, I reckon."
"I can tell you how to not mispronounce half as many words as you do
now," said Stan.
"How's that?" said Pete, greatly interested.
"Only talk half so much."
"Fair enough, kid! It would work, too. That ain't all, either. If I
talked less you'd talk more; and, talking more, you'd study out for
yourself a lot of the things I tell you now, gettin' credit from you for
much wisdom, just because I hold the floor. Go to it, boy! Tell us how
the affairs of We, Us & Company size up to you at this juncture."
"Here goes," said Stan. "First, we don't want to let on that we've got
anything at all on our minds--much less a rich mine. After a reasonable
time we should make some casual mention of discontent that we've sent off
rock to an assayer and not heard from it. Not to say a word would make
our conspirators more suspicious; a careless mention of it might make
them think our find wasn't such-a-much, after all. Say! I suppose it
wouldn't do to pick up a collection of samples from the best mines round
Cobre--and inquire round who to write to for some more, from Jerome
and Cananea, maybe; and then, after talking them up a while, we could
send one of these samples off to be assayed, just for curiosity--what?"
"Bear looking into," said Pete; "though I think they'd size it up as an
attempt to throw 'em off the trail. Maybe we can smooth that idea out so
we can do something with it. Proceed."
"Then we'll have to play up to that location you filed by hiking to the
Gavilan and going through the motions of doing assessment work on that
dinky little claim."
Feeling his way, Stan watched the older man's eyes. Pete nodded approval.
"But, Pete, aren't we taking a big chance that some one will find our
claim? It isn't recorded, and our notice will run out unless we do some
assessment work pretty quick. Suppose some one should stumble onto it?"
"Well, we've got to take the chance," said Pete. "And the chance of some
one stumbling on our find by blind luck, like we did, isn't a drop in the
bucket to the chance that we'll be followed if we try to slip away while
these fellows are worked up with the fever. Seventy-five thousand round
dollars to one canceled stamp that some one has his eye glued on us
through a telescope right this very now! I wouldn't bet the postage stamp
on it, at that odds. No, sir! Right now things shape up hotter than the
seven low places in hell.
"If we go to the mine now--or soon--we'll never get back. After we show
them the place--_adiós el mundo_!"
"Surely in vain the net is spread in the sight of any bird," Mitchell
quoted soberly. "So you think that after a while, when their enthusiasm
dies down, we can give them the slip?"
"Sure! It's our only chance."
"Couldn't we make a get-away at night?"
"It is what they are hoping for. They'd follow our tracks. No, sir! We do
nothing. We notice nothing, we suspect nothing, and we have nothing to
hide."
"You want to remember that our location notice will be running out pretty
soon."
"We'll have to risk it. Not so much of a risk, either. Cobre is the last
outpost of civilization. South of here, in the whole strip from Comobabi
to the Colorado River, there's not twenty men, all told, between here and
the Mexican border--except yonder deluded wretches in the Gavilan; and
none beyond the border for a hundred miles."
"It is certainly one big lonesome needle-in-the-haystack proposition--and
no one has any idea where our find is, not within three days' ride. But
what puzzles me is this: If Zurich really got wise to our copper, he'd
know at once that it was a big thing, if there was any amount of it. Then
why didn't he keep it private and confidential? Why tip it off to the
G.P.? I have always understood that in robbery and murder, one is
assisted only by intimate friends. What is the large idea?"
"That, I take it," laughed Pete, "is, in some part, an acknowledgment
that it doesn't take many like you and me to make a dozen. You've made
one or two breaks and got away with 'em, the last year or two, that has
got 'em guessing; and I'm well and loudly known myself. There is a wise
old saying that it's no use sending a boy to mill. They figure on that,
likely; they wanted to be safe and sanitary. They sized it up that to
dispatch only two or three men to adjust such an affair with us would be
in no way respectful or segacious.
"Also, in a gang of crooks like that, every one is always pullin' for his
buddy. That accounts for part of the crowd--prudence and a far-reaching
spirit of brotherly love. For the rest, when the first ten or six made
packs and started, they was worked up and oozing excitement at every
pore. Then some of the old prospectors got a hunch there was something
doing; so they just naturally up stakes and tagged along. Always doing
that, old miner is. That's what makes the rushes and stampedes you hear
about."
"Then we're to do nothing just now but to shun mind-readers, write no
letters, and not talk in our sleep?"
"Just so," agreed Pete. "If my saddle could talk, I'd burn it. That's our
best lay. We'll tire 'em out. The most weariest thing in the world is to
hunt for a man that isn't there; the next worst is to watch a man that
has nothing to conceal. And our little old million-dollar-a-rod hill is
the unlikeliest place to look for a mine I ever did see. Just plain dirt
and sand. No indications; just a plain freak. I'd sooner take a chance in
the pasture lot behind pa's red barn--any one would. We covered up all
the scratchin' we did and the wind has done the rest. Here--you was to do
the talkin'. Go on."
"What we really need," declared Mitchell, "is an army--enough absolutely
trustworthy and reliable men to overmatch any interference."
"The largest number of honest men that was ever got together in one
bunch," said Pete, "was just an even eleven. Judas Iscariot was the
twelfth. That's the record. For that reason I've always stuck it out that
we ought to have only ten men on a jury, instead of twelve. It seems more
modest, somehow. But suppose we found ten honest men somewheres. It might
be done. I know where there's two right here in Arizona, and I've got my
suspicions of a third--honest about portable property, that is. With
cattle, and the like, they don't have any hard-and-fast rule; just
consider each case on its individual merits. How the case of automobiles
would strike them elder ethics is one dubious problem. Standing still, or
bein' towed, so it might be considered as a wagon, a car would be safe
enough; but proceedin' from hither to yon under its own power--I dunno.
I'll make a note of it. Well, you get the right idea for the first thing.
Honest men wanted; no questions asked. And then what?"
"Money."
"You've said it, kid! We could quitclaim that hill for a million cash
to-morrow--"
"If we had any claim to quit," interrupted Stanley; "and if we could drag
capital out here and rub its nose in our hill."
"That's the word I was feelin' for--capital. It's capital we want,
Stanley--not money. I could get a little money myself down at Tucson.
Them two honest men of mine live there. We used to steal cattle together
down on the Concho--the sheriff and José Benavides and me. I aim to feed
'em a slice of my share, anyway--but what they could put in wouldn't be a
drop in the bucket. We want to go after capital. There's where you come
in. Got any rich friends back East?"
Stan reflected.
"My cousin, Oscar Mitchell, is well-to-do, but hardly what you would call
rich, in this connection," he said. "But he is in touch with some of the
really big men. We could hardly find a better agent to interest capital."
"Will he take the first steps on your bare word--without even a sample or
an assayer's report?"
"Certainly. Why not?"
"Back you go, then. Here's where you come in. I had this in mind,"
declared Johnson, "when I first throwed in with you. I knew we could find
the mine and you'd be needed for bait to attract capital. I rustled a
little expense money at Tucson. Say, I didn't tell you about that.
Listen!"
He recited at length his joyous financial adventures in Tucson.
"But won't your man Marsh tell Zurich about your unruly behavior?" said
Stan at the finish.
"I think not. He's got too much to lose. I put the fear of God in his
heart for fair. I couldn't afford to have him put Zurich on his guard.
It won't do to underestimate Zurich. The man's a crook; but he's got
brains. He hasn't overlooked a bet since he came here. Zurich is
Cobre--or mighty near it. He's in on all the good things. Big share in
the big mines, little share in the little ones. He's got all the water
supply grabbed and is makin' a fortune from that alone. He runs the
store, the post-office, and the stage line. He's got the freight
contracts and the beef contracts. He's got brains. Only one weak point
about him--he'll underestimate us. We got brains too. Zurich knows that,
but he don't quite believe it. That's our chance."
"Just what will you ask my cousin to do? And when shall I go?"
"Day before to-morrow. You hike back to Cobre and hit the road for all
points East, I'll go over to the Gavilan to be counted--take this
dynamite and stuff, and make a bluff at workin', keeping my ears open and
my mouth not. Pledge cousin to come see when we wire for him--as soon as
we get possession. If he finds the sight satisfactory, we'll organize
a company, you and me keepin' control. We'll give 'em forty per cent for
a million cash in the treasury. I want nine percent for my Tucson
friends, who'll put up a little preliminary cash and help us with the
first fightin', if any. Make your dicker on that basis; take no less.
If your cousin can't swing it, we'll go elsewhere.
"Tell him our proposition would be a gracious gift at two millions,
undeveloped; but we're not selling. Tell him there'll be a million
needed for development before there'll be a dollar of return. There's no
water; just enough to do assessment work on, and that to be hauled
twenty-five miles from those little rock tanks at Cabeza Prieta. Deep
drillin' may get water--I hope so. But that will take time and money.
There'll have to be a seventy-five-mile spur of railroad built, anyway,
leaving the main line somewhere about Mohawk: we'd just as well count on
hauling water from the Gila the first year. Them tanks will about run a
ten-man gang a month after each rain, countin' in the team that does the
hauling.
"Tell him one claim, six hundred feet by fifteen hundred, will pretty
near cover our hill; but we'll stake two for margin. We don't want
any more; but we'll have to locate a town site or something, to be sure
of our right of way for our railroad. Every foot of these hills will be
staked out by some one, eventually. If any of these outside claims turns
out to be any good, so much the better. But there can't be the usual rush
very well--'cause there ain't enough water. We'll have to locate the
tanks and keep a guard there; we'll have to pull off a franchise for our
little jerkwater railroad.
"We got to build a wagon road to Mohawk, set six-horse teams to hauling
water, and other teams to hauling water to stations along the road for
the teams that haul water for us. All this at once; it's going to be some
complicated.
"That's the lay: Development work; appropriation for honest men in the
first camp; another for lawyers; patentin' three claims; haul water
seventy-five miles, no road, and part of that through sand; minin'
machinery; build a railroad; smelter, maybe--if some one would kindly
find coal.
"We want a minimum of five hundred thousand; as much more for accidents.
Where does this cousin of yours live? In Abingdon?"
"In Vesper--seven miles from Abingdon. He's a lawyer."
"Is he all right?"
"Why, yes--I guess so. When I was a boy I thought he was a wonderful
chap--rather made a hero of him."
"When you was a boy?" echoed Johnson; a quizzical twinkle assisted the
query.
"Oh, well--when he was a boy."
"He's older than you, then?"
"Nearly twice as old. My father was the youngest son of an old-fashioned
family, and I was his youngest. Uncle Roy--Oscar's father--was dad's
oldest brother, and Oscar was a first and only."
Pete shook his head.
"I'm sorry about that, too. I'd be better pleased if he was round your
age. No offense to you, Stan; but I'd name no places to your cousin if
I were you. When we get legal possession let him come out and see for
himself--leadin' a capitalist, if possible."
"Oscar's all right, I guess," protested Stan.
"But you can't do more than guess? Name him no names, then. I wish he was
younger," said Peter with a melancholy expression. "The world has a
foolish old saying: 'The good die young.' That's all wrong, Stanley. It
isn't true. The young die good!"