A BRACE OF MINING EXPERTS.
Out of the chaos of the world, beyond our orbits of which we know so
little in our circumscribed limits of thought and action, there was
about this time evolved two typical characters of the mining camp.
Diametrically different in methods, and working in entirely distinct
departments of the mining industry each was an expert in his own
particular line. The first was a dapper little Frenchman, of pleasing
appearance and address, sprightly of tongue and limb, neat of dress and
rejoicing in the appellation of Captain De Vere. He had spent his whole
life since the famous days of forty-nine in California in the study of
mines and mining, in all their details from the standpoint, first of
a practical miner, and later as a diligent student of metallurgy, and
it was said, made a good thing by virtue of his knowledge, of which
even the oldest prospector who depended upon his experience with pick
and shovel alone, had little conception. He took lodgings with mine
host, and cultivated the acquaintance of everybody with the ease of
an old stager, and in a way to bear out the natural reputation of
his countrymen for social graces. His time was spent in wandering
about among the mines gathering specimens of ore from many sources,
and in assaying them and recording the result in the office which he
established ostensibly to do test work for the public; but he spent
so much of each day in field work that his business did not seem to
be a very flourishing one, which fact seemed to cause him very little
concern. The Little Pittsburg had now come into prominence and the
Wilson Brothers decided to work it vigorously, so one of them took
charge of the property, erected a shanty close to the shaft, and
employed a force of men to operate it. One day as Captain De Vere was
making his rounds he strolled to the shanty of the Wilson mine and
began to examine the earth thrown out in a heap upon the dump. One
variety of clay thrown up was of a soft putty-like appearance, dull
white in color with a bluish tinge. The cabin had been banked all
around with this substance to shelter the nightly occupants from the
chilly winds. The captain examined this carefully, compared it with
that in the heap, found them identical in quality, and in that simple
fact made an important discovery to him, namely, the owner’s estimate
of its value in putting it to this homely use. There was a bright
glitter in the Frenchman’s eye as he carefully pocketed a specimen,
then strolled carelessly away till sure of being well out of sight,
when he fairly flew to his office, locked himself in, and in great
excitement began to test his morning’s supply of specimens. Whatever
the results, when he appeared at noon among his associates no one could
have suspected from his manner that he cared a fig for all the silver
in Leadville. He was gay and talkative, even more jovial than usual,
but his interest seemed to be anywhere else than in mining. A day or
two after this he loafed again into the dominion of white clay and
asked for Mr. Wilson, who soon appeared, when Captain De Vere asked him
carelessly, after some conversation, if he wished to sell The Little
Pittsburg. “That depends,” said Mr. Wilson; “we all have our price, you
know. My brother and I are satisfied that we have a good thing here,
and are in no hurry to part with it; still we will sell if we get what
she’s worth.”
“Could I look her over?” asked the captain.
“Why, yes, certainly, but I don’t believe I can show you through
to-day, as I have an appointment below; but I should be happy to show
you all there is to be seen at any time after to-day. I will be here at
two o’clock to-morrow.”
The captain took his departure for his office, and the astute owner
of the promising mine hastened to keep his appointment below, which
did not happen to mean one in the town at the foot of the hill, but
below the surface of a little square of the earth’s surface to which he
had laid claim with all the leads, spurs, dips, and angles that might
underlay it, and during the rest of the day he was, indeed, a very much
engaged man, preparing, like a prudent housewife, for the coming visit.
At the appointed time the two gentlemen were lowered away by the
miner’s windlass, to the depths below. As many men as could be utilized
had been kept busily at work since her late development of riches, and
several drifts had been started in various directions and different
levels to fully develop the wealth supposed to lie there and form a
basis on which a miner could glibly tell you, to the fraction of an
ounce, how many thousands were “in sight.”
The captain inspected each tunnel minutely, making a few inquiries,
probing some weak points in the make-up of the ledge, until they came
to, and passed, what appeared to have been, to the Frenchman’s keen
eyes, the beginning of another drift tunnel that had been abandoned,
and barricaded with rocks and clay. “Halloo!” said Captain De Vere,
“what’s this?”
“Oh, that’s a drift we run there a little way, but she showed up
nothing, so we quit her and made her a dump for this worthless white
clay.”
“By the way,” said the captain, “this white clay is going to take your
mine yet, isn’t it?”
“Oh, no, I guess not,” said Wilson, trying to conceal any show of
annoyance that he might feel, “that will run out when we get down a
little further.”
“But doesn’t it grow thicker in the vein at present there?” asked the
captain.
“Well, yes,” replied Wilson, reluctantly, “but we think that it will
peter out presently.”
Next morning a little wizened old miner in regulation attire presented
himself at Wilson’s cabin and asked for a job. As the work was extended
in different directions it gave a constantly widening field for work,
and he was told to go below and clean out room number five. Three hours
later Wilson himself went below to inspect the work of his men, and
on coming to the spot where he had erected his barricade he found it
partly removed and the new hand was busily at work in it, clearing away
the rubbish.
“What the devil are you doing in there?” demanded Wilson.
“Why this is number five, isn’t it, boss?”
“H--l, no!” roared Wilson, “get out of there and out of this mine;
here’s your day’s wages; I don’t want any such stupid jackasses about
the works;” and the crestfallen miner went his way, leaving the angry
proprietor to repair the damage done to his defenses, and sputtering
away about the folly of hiring green hands who made more extra work
than their necks were worth.
The magician of the retort was again at his work in his little office
and his labors seemed to exert a strange spell over him, for his
countenance worked in a sort of time-keeping spasm to the changes in
the ores undergoing analysis. He laughed satirically to himself, he
paced the floor in half-suppressed excitement, composed himself to
make some entries in a little private record, and to the figures he
added a few words of annotation in cipher, closed the book and thrust
it into his inner pocket; and, like a man changing his workaday coat
for evening dress, he assumed again the beaming, careless, happy
countenance of a contented philosopher who has enough to meet the
demands of his everyday life and would not go out of his way for more.
By merest chance (?) he sauntered into the post office a few days later
as Wilson came out. Greeting him cordially he inquired jocosely, “How’s
the potter’s clay panning out?”
“That’s all right, captain, but she’s doing a little better to-day than
she did yesterday, and she’s been going that gait now for a good many
days. The Little Pittsburg is all OK.”
The captain was passing on, but had a second thought, and stopping,
he asked: “Well, how much less will you take than you gave for those
shares you bought of Hardman the other day?”
“Rats, rats,” said Wilson, “you know she’s worth all we gave for her,
and a handsome sum to boot; I’ll tell you what, captain, it’ll just
take a hundred thousand dollars to buy The Little Pittsburg. Say the
word, captain, and she’s yours for that money, but not a penny less.”
“I’ll take her,” said the captain coolly, “I may as well make a fool
of myself as anybody, I haven’t any family to suffer if I do go broke.
Come to Hobson’s notarial office with your brother, this evening,
and we’ll fix it up,” and the captain tripped away as serenely as
though his heart was not beating like a triphammer, and his emotions
threatening to choke him. Wilson, with less perfect training, hurried
away, excitement plainly written on every feature and expressed in
every action. He hardly dared to believe that the captain meant what
he said, or would stand to his bargain through the day. But when, in
company with his brother, he presented himself at the appointed time
and place, the little captain seemed to be still laboring under the
strong delusion that impelled him to regard the mine as a bonanza.
The transfer was speedily made, and the evening express bore to
Denver a package bearing the address of Wilson Brothers’ bankers,
and containing a hundred thousand dollars in gold. It also bore the
little captain on his bland way to London, where he must have produced
some convincing arguments of the worth of his property, for he was
accompanied on his return by one of the trusted representatives of a
rich London firm who dealt in mines and mining stocks. Once more the
various galleries of The Little Pittsburg were swept and garnished in
preparation for a visitor. Once more the impressionable putty clay
was to take a plaster cast of a foreign-made boot, but this time the
barricade of rocks in room number five was removed and everything done
to invite the visitor to enter.
And now John Bull and Skye Terrier pant up the mountain, scarcely able
to breathe enough oxygen in this thin atmosphere to support the living
flame in the lusty Englishman. Arrived at the cabin, they inspected
the clay on the dump and the captain is telling his companions that
there are thousands of dollars lying right there on that heap of white
clay. “It is the richest ore of the kind I’ve ever seen taken from the
earth, but these mummies know no more of its value than if it had been
aluminum; but come below, there’s a prettier sight there I want to show
you.” They descend to the level of room number five, and make their way
there at once. “Look here,” said the captain pointing triumphantly to
a dark streak of mineral about an inch in width, running zigzag down
the face wall of the ledge. “There she is, the pure stuff! Some of the
lumps I gathered the day I went to work for Wilson as a miner tested
eighty to eighty-five per cent. of silver, and these looneys who have
been mining all their lives pronounced it a vein of iron, and tried to
smuggle it over for fear it would injure the sale of their property.
Ha, ha! I like to be injured that way, though I didn’t make a great
success working for Wilson, blundered into the wrong stall you know,
and got fired. Now we’ll see the other levels and inspect the vein of
putty in its native state. Too bad it got worse on them all the time,
expensive stuff to handle, ate up all the profits. I’ll convince you
that at each level where the ledge is tapped this rich silver-bearing
but innocent-looking white clay grows steadily thicker, and when we get
our drift through from the bottom of the hill, we’ll show you one of
the greatest bonanzas in the history of Leadville or any where else.”
And undoubtedly De Vere made good his word as far as bringing
convincing proofs of what he claimed for the ledge is concerned, for,
before another week had elapsed, the town was all a-twitter with the
news that Captain De Vere had sold a half interest in The Little
Pittsburg to a London syndicate, for the handsome sum of one million
dollars in good yellow gold. I had thus the pleasure of seeing my
property increase in value tenfold; each time it changed hands but, I
alas, was at the wrong end of the progression. Still, I can sincerely
and honestly aver that I have never yet seen a day, or an hour, when I
regretted the part I had taken. I felt as if I were not yet ripe for
such a blow of prosperity and one that would most probably have knocked
me off my pegs entirely. I felt, too, that my destiny and fortune lay
in another direction from the time I first knew my flambeau friend, Dad
Callaway, as the boys, with a touch in the rough, of feeling for his
venerable years, had named him.
I was deeply interested in all his plans and ambitions and resolved in
due time to tender my assistance; but at present my great concern was
to learn how to make a footprint that would not be instantly recognized
as that of a tenderfoot. I could already discern clearly enough a
wide field of profitable employment for those who were competent to
cultivate it, and the experience of Captain De Vere, I felt, was almost
as valuable to me as though I, and not he, had realized the million
from our mine. I could but own that it was but a just price paid for
knowledge; what little information I possessed had sold readily enough
for ten thousand, Wilson’s a grade higher for practical purposes sold
for a correspondingly higher price, while Captain De Vere’s expert
knowledge on the subject brought its adequate reward.
Encouraged by his example I felt that in years to come, I, too, could
combine the knowledge derived from college life with that of the
everyday life of a miner, and become a two-fisted fellow ready to cope
successfully with all classes of men and mines that I should come in
contact with, but I confess I had not the slightest conception, or
prophetic ken, of the job in store for me.
But the other type of mining expert, what of him? We must beg his
pardon for having left him all this time standing on one leg waiting
for an introduction, like a big, awkward schoolboy, while we went into
rhapsodies over the fortune-getting that was interesting to us chiefly
as a spectacular entertainment, or, if valuable as an experience in
life, we bought the same at a good round price. If the example of the
other acquaintance to whom we are about to present you should prove of
any value, and it is with this earnest hope in view that I record it,
it will be chiefly as an example to be avoided, and lest, by assuming
the responsibility of presenting him I should also incur the guilt of
aiding and abetting in fraud and illicit practices, I shall plainly
label him and present him to you, my readers, as Jim Mitchel, P.M.S.,
professional mining shark. He is a strapping, coarsely-framed fellow
with swarthy complexion and a sneering cast of countenance, and, as to
nationality, that might pass for any foreign, or home-bred progeny of
the villain type; while his speech proves that by habit of life he is
legitimately of the mining-camp breed.
He appeared at our camp about the same time that Captain De Vere made
his appearance. He belonged to what might be termed the night shift of
our boarding-house community, for he seldom took time for sleep during
the natural hours for such repose, but was to be seen frequenting the
saloons, faro-games, and roulette wheels, especially during the harvest
time of those flourishing institutions, which was from Saturday evening
till Monday morning. Thousands of the miners worked claims that lay at
some distance from the city in the surrounding mountains. It is the
testimony of all old miners and inhabitants of mining towns, confirmed
by a not ungenerous range of observance by myself, that ninety-nine of
every one hundred men, whose sturdy labor produces the mineral wealth
of the land, fail to realize any material benefit from their labors
beyond a bare living. When the labors of the week are ended they all
flock to town to enjoy their holiday, hear the latest mine gossip, lay
in provisions for the coming week, and last, but uppermost in their
minds, enjoy the privileges, the delights of the saloon and gaming
table. Wholly indescribable to the uninitiated were these scenes in the
palmy days of Leadville. Every saloon was filled to overflowing with
rough miners drinking and jesting, and around the rows of gaming tables
were gaping crowds of infatuated spectators, anxious for a chance to
try their luck. Huge piles of gold and silver lay on the tables, and
heavy stakes were played for. There was one feature of the scene that
appeared inconsistent with its general character, which was a notable
absence of wrangling and wordy disputes that were the invariable
accompaniment of such scenes in Eastern cities. In fact the scene was
one of armed neutrality, for almost every man carried a heavy revolver
at his side, and in that fact was found the solution of the problem;
for it was well understood that epithets sown broadcast would speedily
reap a harvest of bullets, and the drunken sot, who, in an Eastern city
felt privileged to thrust his maudlin visage into your face or apply
lightly decorative word-painting to your cognomen, never so far forgot
himself here as to take such offensive liberties, knowing that they
would not be tolerated for a moment, and proving that in his boldest
flights of imprudence the toper is still responsible and capable of
distinguishing between good and evil, but is possessed by a reckless
spirit of deviltry, which he will wreak upon you if he knows it is
entirely safe to do so, knowing that when he meets you next day, and
you venture to remonstrate with him he has the convenient scapegoat,
“the drink,” to bear his sins away.
But when trouble did arise which was not seldom, “The devil and Tom
Walker,” was to pay, guns were drawn by the principals in the dispute,
and as there seems to be no possible question that can arise in life
but has its votaries on both sides, the sympathizers of both parties
promptly drew theirs, lights were blown out, or shot out, a regular
fusillade in the dark resulted in the death of perhaps half a score of
poor fellows, quite as likely to be of those who had no part whatever
in the quarrel, as not. Their comrades would carry them out when the
scrimmage was over, and the room relighted, after which everything
went on again as before, with only a little estrangement between the
contending parties. In the midst of such scenes as those Jim Mitchel
was perfectly at home; he staked his money freely, and bore his varying
fortunes with sneering good humor. He was better posted on the nerve
and weakness of the different players in camp than, perhaps, any man in
it, so that his stakes were wagers of his superiority of judgment of
human nature. In that sense Jim was a sure thing man, for he generally
managed to foot up a balance in his favor after each night’s play.
If a horse race was to be run on a Sunday on the main thoroughfare,
which was the staple Sunday amusement, and the main street the regular
racecourse, Jim was a prominent character, going about with a handful
of twenty-dollar pieces held aloft and calling out the odds on his
favorite horse, till he found a taker. All these sports were with Jim
the mere by-play, to amuse and while away the present moment, while he
waited for the curtain to rise on his five-act drama. Jim was a fisher
of men, but in the waters where we have seen him, casting hook and
line, he caught only what he considered minnows, which he intended to
use for bait to attract game worthy of his attention.
Jim had a claim on one of the remote peaks of Prayer Hill group, but
judging from appearance he valued it mainly as it gave him standing
as a miner among the boys, and occasioned healthful exercise in doing
necessary assessment work. He was no indifferent on-looker at the
prosperity of The Little Pittsburg, and he drew his own conclusions,
being careful to cultivate a natural feeling in the public mind, of
expectancy that other mines in this group might prove equally valuable.
Meanwhile, no doubt, his mental eye was scanning the financial horizon
of Leadville for a star of the first magnitude, before which he might
perform his devotions. His affections suddenly centered upon an object
to all human appearance the most unpromising imaginable. Good old Dr.
Maxwell, a practicing physician, who had amassed a comfortable fortune
before coming to Leadville, and had increased it to a decidedly
handsome one by judicious investment in city real estate, was opposed
to all mining speculation, and boasted that he had been around mining
camps since the days of the forty-niners’ paradise and had never yet
been attacked by the “buck fever,” or mania for speculation in mines.
“Mitch” was too astute a student of human nature not to observe that an
element of weakness cropped out in that very declaration of strength,
and proceeded in the practice of his profession on the principle that
every man who came in contact with mining affairs would have his turn
at the disease as surely as he was subject, in earlier life, to the
measles and whooping cough.
He was too good an artist to attempt to interest the venerable doctor
by any commonplace method or argument, but from the moment the latter
made his confident assertion, Mitchel set him down in his list of
eligibles and patiently awaited the opportunity to lure him into his
parlor, with the winding stair, when he should convince him, that
according to the doctor’s complacent explanatories of contagious
diseases, “Humanity is rendered immune from contagious diseases only by
experiencing that disease in a more or less violent form.”
Variety theaters, horse races, faro dens, and jag shops were vastly
more congenial to Mitch as places of amusement, but the frequenters
of these places were not favorable subjects for his manipulations, for
they, as a rule, had been thoroughly inoculated with every form of
mental epidemic and fanciful fever, till they had become dulled to such
influences and far too _blasé_ to make desirable converts.
He resolved that if ever he should be sick, none but Dr. Maxwell should
prescribe for him. Fortune would not have been doing her share toward
aiding this general in fighting his battles, if she had not come to his
rescue now. He had the good fortune, while toying with a gun, to have
the little finger of his left hand shot off, and sought the doctor’s
office to have it properly dressed, and proceed forthwith to “call”
him softly. Fumbling in his pocket for a stray gold piece to pay his
fee, he, by the merest accident in the world, drew out with the twenty
dollar piece a little nugget of silver an inch square, such as we have
seen taken from the “iron seam” in the Little Pittsburg, and remarked
casually, as he separated it from the coin: “Doc, here’s a nice little
specimen for your cabinet, take a look at it. About ninety per cent.
pure silver, I should say. Nothing small about that, hey?”
He noted carefully, as ever did this knight of the pill, every
circumstance entering into the diagnosis of a difficult case, the look
of interest in the old doctor’s eye, as he examined the innocent
little piece of mineral that was to produce a greater tumult in his
quiet bosom than his favorite dose of calomel could produce in his
patients.
“That’s a beauty, Mitchel, much obliged; where did such a specimen as
that come from?”
“Oh, that’s from my little property, The Queen, upon Prayer Hill. Lots
more like it there. I’ll bring you some more next time I’m down if you
like it.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and develop your mine, Jim? You might have a
good thing there.”
“Might have, I know I have, without any ifs or ands about it, but I can
make all the money I need without digging for it; that’s hardly in my
line; I do enough work on her to clear the law, and that’s all I care
for at present.”
And Jim, having seen his patient swallow the first dose, dropped the
subject as if of little interest to him, and soon went away. He came
daily to have his finger dressed, but took care to forget all about
his promise to bring some more specimens, till the doctor had reminded
him of it once or twice; then he finally produced another of the same
kind as the first one brought, but a still larger and finer specimen,
some lumps of putty clay, rich with blue streaks of silver, and several
different kinds of quartz, specimens all rich in their way, for sly
Jim Mitchel knew that they would go, not into the doctor’s cabinet,
but into the assayer’s hands; then he remarked lazily that they were
precisely similar to the ore found in The Little Pittsburg, at the same
stage of development, and furthermore, that his lead would one day cut
The Little Pittsburg out, and make them answer for every dollar they
were taking out.
Then he loafed away again, leaving his little lump of blue clay to
leaven the whole lump of mercenary meal in the white-haired physician.
Long he sat in his office pondering on many things. He had succeeded
beyond his expectations in his profession, had reaped a comfortable
harvest of professional honor and a goodly store of wealth, but he had
a large and ambitious family, sons and daughters, anxious to obtain the
best educational advantages Europe and America could afford. He had
learned by costly experience that youthful ambitions were expensive.
To be sure, he had always inveighed against such speculations, but
this was an exceptional case. Here was a mine owned by a profligate
who would rather make his money by gambling than by digging, and who,
even if he did develop and realize a fortune from his mine, would only
squander it shortly, and reap no permanent benefits, but rather injury,
for it would only give him a new impetus in dissipation.
Then he reviewed his whole business and professional career and
concluded that his success had entitled him to a fair opinion of his
own judgment, and made up his mind, that if, after investigating,
he found as promising an investment as surface views indicated, he
might possibly invest a little money in The Queen. He promptly turned
over his samples to be tested, and, as you and I are well aware,
they were no bogus samples, and, therefore, it does not surprise us
in the least to learn that they made a remarkably good record, duly
attested and certified to by the responsible and bonded firm of Krupp
& Golden. So Jim went on his way, only a poor, ignorant fool, beneath
the notice, ordinarily, of a professional gentleman of Dr. Maxwell’s
caliber. He could not relate a single college incident, or converse
intelligently on the subject of college boating, and football clubs,
of secret societies for the promotion of the dignity of the seniors,
and the holding in check of the rising imprudence and conceit of the
“Freshies,” and “Sophs;” knew nothing whatever of coaching and hazing,
while all these were pleasing, everyday themes of conversation with
the doctor and his companions, even though they might seem, at times,
a little heedless of the courtesy due some friend present who had
never known such a seventh heaven of delight. But, after all, could
such an one have the fine sensitive nature that could feel neglected
by being ignored in this feast of the little American gods? The
ultimate conclusion arrived at in his cogitations was that he had
good grounds for believing in himself as a very prudent, careful, and
eminently capable sort of a person and he sometimes prayed with himself
consciously, or unconsciously, “Lord, I thank Thee that I am not as
other men, or even as this poor profligate who wastes his substance in
riotous living, like the unfaithful steward of whom Thou hast said,
even that which he hath shall be taken from him,” but out of native
politeness, and a refined and classical nature he refrained from
hinting to the Throne of Grace that he was eminently the proper person
on whom the confiscated goods should be bestowed.
But the doctor had his own private opinion on that subject and began to
think that he would like to take a look at the property known as The
Queen.
He regarded it as almost a providential bit of information on a subject
that was deeply interesting to him, but of which no human being had
heard him breathe a word, that one of his patients who was suffering
from an ugly flesh wound received in one of the free-for-all fights in
a saloon the night before, had remarked while being cared for, “That
was a lucky shot for me that it’s no worse; but it was an unlucky
scrimmage for Jim Mitchel.”
“Why so?” asked the physician.
“Well, you see, Jim was just arranging a deal with some of the boys
who had had a streak of luck to bond The Queen for a hundred thousand
dollars, but they quarreled about fixin’ the papers an’ he lost the
whole deal for what didn’t amount to four bits.”
Reflecting when alone on this information the doctor concluded that
the time had come for him to investigate this matter, and that it was
advisable to act decisively before the game went entirely out of his
hands. So he sought the haunts of Mitchel, and told him he should like
a few more specimens from his mine for a friend, for he reasoned that
it would not be policy for him to show his hand at this early stage in
the game, when his partner was an ignoramus who could not understand
his motive, or appreciate the business sagacity that suggested such a
course.
They went together to the incipient bonanza, Queen, armed with a pick,
with which to loosen the specimens. There was to be no chance for any
trickery here, the doctor had soliloquized, and at any rate a man who
is foolish enough to be duped with his eyes open, ought to have his eye
teeth cut. He superintended the work of knocking down a good supply of
samples from the ledge, and saw them gathered up and put into a sack.
Any one could see with half an eye that these specimens were genuine
without the possibility of mistake. Was not the ledge bristling with
the same kind of ore, was not the earth beneath their feet strewn with
the same sort of samples from the parent ledge? It would require an
expert to determine which pieces were broken off now, and which ones
had been detached at an earlier period.
Entirely satisfied that he had in his grasp a sack containing a fair
sample of the ledge before them, and a little inclined to blame himself
for distrusting his companion, who, after all, was guilty of no worse
crime than that of dense ignorance of many things in the world that
were patent to himself, the doctor returned to the city, and delivered
them to his “friend” Krupp, of the firm of Krupp & Golden, who put them
into his cabinet of curiosities in the shape of a record of silver
ore, bearing at the rate of so many ounces of pure silver to the ton.
The sagacious doctor then consulted his “friend’s” cabinet to find the
value of these specimens compared with those of The Little Pittsburg,
which also adorned his “friend’s” extensive collection, and found that
in quality they were identical, confirming Mitchel’s view of the case
that he had the same lay-out as his prosperous neighbors. He quietly
posted himself as to what The Little Pittsburg was doing, and found
that it was yielding more than was generally supposed, an amount to
make his pulse perceptibly quicken and he felt something of the thrill
that youthful hopes and plans used to yield.
He consulted his attorney on the legal aspect of a case in which a
“friend” was interested, in which the ledge dipped toward an adjoining
claim, and found that here, too, Mitchel had been correctly informed;
though it was something of a mystery to him how a rude, untutored
intellect like Mitchel’s could pick up and retain so many fragments
of correct information. The result of all these business-like and
methodical steps was a little talk with Mitch, in his private office,
in which he explained suavely that he was looking for a little
investment for a friend, who wanted to engage in mining speculations,
and though he had tried to dissuade him from it, he was determined,
and the doctor had consented to do his best to find a little property
that might yield small and steady returns as the party was too old to
wish to dabble in anything in the wild-cat line, nor did he expect
to strike a bonanza; but he had thought that perhaps The Queen would
fill the bill at a low figure, otherwise he could not invest. Jim, the
stolid and ignorant, heard all this without the changing of a muscle,
and replied that he would consider an offer of seventy-five thousand
dollars as a very low figure indeed, but he was undecided as to whether
he ought to sell her as she was bound in time to become a bonanza, and
so forth. The pious doctor was almost paralyzed by the mere mention of
so large a sum.
“But, my dear sir, that is out of sight; you ask more money than my
friend ever thought of owning in one batch, to say nothing of putting
it into a wild speculation like that.”
“Well,” said Mitch, “I’m not pertickeler about sellin’ her, but I’ve
named the price that ’ud take her, and that’s the bottom notch.”
“How would you like to trade her for some city real estate? I’ve got
some lots that are hard to beat for location and value.”
“I’ll take anything that’s capable of bein’ turned into dust,” said
Mitchel, “only I must know she’s got the intrinsic value, dollar for
dollar.”
Thus they played their little game at cross purposes till far into the
night, and a few days later it was announced by the official organ of
the city, the saloon keeper, to his patrons, that Mitch had closed out
his mining claim to Dr. Maxwell for real estate, valued in the deal
at sixty-five thousand dollars. And a few days later it was further
stated that Mitch had “cleaned up” fifty thousand in the clear stuff
from the sale of his real estate, and was treating everybody who
could be induced to eat or drink, for a day or two, and drinking huge
potations to Dr. Maxwell’s health and prosperity, after which, with a
particularly diabolical leer on his smirking countenance, he boarded an
eastbound train and our little world knew him no more.
Nor, in fact, has our little world, or any other, that we know of,
for that matter, ever known anything more of The Queen, except that
there is still the mound of earth where a test shaft was begun by
the claimant, one James Mitchel, ignoramus, and afterward continued
by right of acquisition by the well-known and highly respected Dr.
Maxwell, and last of all was abandoned by him and turned over right,
title, interest, and estate, to the owls and the bats.
Dr. Maxwell is still a prominent figure in Leadville. He is still
the same cultured gentleman and able physician. He still delights in
reminiscences of his college days, and has still, perhaps, a weakness
for desiring to set all the world right on the fact that he is a
college man, and he is both able and willing to give his children
the best of educational and social advantages, and talks of removing
soon to Chicago where he can enjoy more fully, with his family, the
society of quiet, genial, and congenial men of wealth and refinement;
and he is regarded as a happy, successful man, with a well-balanced
mind capable of getting out of life all that is worth the seeking. He
is a man who will go away from Leadville followed by the esteem and
respect of his fellow-citizens, and leave behind him a character for
sterling honesty, and unqualified contempt for petty schemes and dodges
in business transactions. He will also leave behind him a certain
piece of real estate that is not his own, and another certain piece
of mining property on Prayer Hill where he rarely goes nowadays, and
in all the wide range of his conversation there is one little nook he
never invades, and only one or two of his friends are on sufficiently
intimate terms of friendship with the doctor to venture, occasionally,
on the innocent inquiry, “When did you hear from Jim Mitchel last?”