THE BRIGHT SIDE OF PROSPECTING.
In the place where we had encamped for dinner there was on one side of
the ravine, and at the height of about fifty feet above its bed, a long
bench of rocks on which were piled, tier upon tier, rocks that bore a
striking resemblance to sacks of grain. Always having the “evil one” in
their winds when not in the wilderness, the boys called this place the
“Devil’s Levee.” Another place, on the opposite side of the cañon, where
a dozen or more huge, egg-shaped boulders, set on end, stood nodding
this way and that, they christened the “Granite Polka.”
Continuing our journeysners were at work who were reported to be making
from $10 to $20 per day. They seemed much surprised to see our party and
told us that they were making nothing. None of us believed this, and,
without waiting to unpack their animals, two or three of our men rushed
off up the ravine to secure claims. I asked to see the kind of gold they
were getting, and was shown a pan in which were five or six specks about
one fourth as large as the head of a pin. The man who had told me in
Silver City, about the big strike, and who had induced me to join the
expedition, said the men were fooling us; he was sure they had rich
diggings. Taking the pan, this man got down into the hole that had been
dug by the miners, and got a panful of the best-looking gravel he could
find. Winking for me to follow, he started down the stream to a small
pool. When we were out of hearing he said he thought the men were trying
to “play us.” “They don’t want it known that there is anything here,”
said he, “until their friends are all on hand to gobble up the ground.
You can bet high that I’ll get a good prospect out of this pan of dirt.
It looks like the right stuff.”
Meanwhile he was washing it down, stopping once in a while as he neared
the bottom to flit the water over it in the expectation of seeing a
“chispa” or a “nugget.” The less sand there was in the pan the longer
grew his face. At last all was panned out, even to the last grain of
“black sand,” and nought remained but the few little specks of gold
(“colors”) originally in the pan.
“Skunked, by the holy spoons,” cried he. I then washed out the pan and
filled it with earth out of a crevice—the best I could find—panned it
down, and had three small colors.
We then went back to the camp of the miners who had dug the
prospect-hole and asked how the story got started that they had found
gold of the size of peas and were making from $10 to $20 per day. They
knew nothing about it, but one of them finally recollected that when he
went to Silver City for a rocker he had said to some one that from the
number and shape of the “colors” they were finding on the surface he did
not doubt they would find them as big as peas when they reached the
bed-rock. Some one then remarked—‘If you do you’ll be able to make from
$10 to $20 per day,’—from this grew the story of the rich strike in El
Dorado Cañon. We all felt rather “cheap” when we heard this explanation,
the perfect truthfulness of which we could not doubt. I have known many
grand mining excitements that had even less foundation. Even this little
“sport” did not end with our visit to the cañon.
After we had been at home a week, and when we supposed it was well
understood that the diggings were too poor to pay, parties were still
rushing thither. Presently the story crossed the Sierras, and the
California papers said that, “in the El Dorado Cañon diggings, Nevada,
miners are making from $20 to $40 per day with rockers; and the gold is
of fine quality, being worth $17 per ounce.” Though our ardor was a good
deal cooled by what we had learned in regard to the diggings, we were
not altogether discouraged. The boys got their picks, pans and shovels,
and dividing into small parties, struck out in various directions, up
and down the cañon, and among the small ravines putting in from the
hills; agreeing that wherever the best prospects were found, claims
should be staked out for all. At night all hands returned, and nothing
had been found that would pay—a few small colors was all that could be
found, and they could be obtained almost everywhere. It was something
like the present Black Hills mines. Lighting our camp-fire we baked our
slap-jacks, fried our bacon, and made a glorious meal, after which pipes
were lighted, and many stories told of the good old days of “49,” when
the pockets of every honest miner overflowed with gold. When each man
had spun his yarn it was time to think of sleep, and every man rolled
himself in his blankets and stretched himself in the best and softest
spot he could find, looking up at the stars in the ceiling of his
bedroom until he fell asleep. At daylight we were astir, Pike was among
the first up. Tom did not “unroll” till breakfast was almost ready. He
then crawled out and proceeded to pull on his boots, taking a seat on a
pack-saddle.
About this time I observed that Pike was closely watching Tom’s
movements. Tom had got one boot on and his toes started in the other,
when he stopped and yawned lazily. Rousing himself, he then drew his
boot on with a “chuck.” His foot had hardly struck bottom before he gave
a yell and turned deadly pale. Grasping his foot he tried to pull his
boot off, but lost balance and rolled to the ground.
“Pull off my boot, quick, somebody! There is a scorpion in it!” cried
Tom.
Pike managed to be the first to reach Tom, and catching him by the ankle
began tugging desperately, dragging Tom here and there, with nothing but
the top of his head touching the ground.
“Your foot is swelled, Tom, and this boot can’t be got off!” said Pike.
“Yes, it can,” cried Tom. “Pull, confound you, pull! He is stingin’ me
all the time. Pull, Pike—confound you, pull! He’s stingin’ me to death!”
Pike gave several desperate plunges, lifting Tom clear of the ground
each time; then stopped.
“I tell yer, Tom,” said he, “it ain’t no use; it’ll never come off, your
foot is swelled so bad.”
“Cut it off then!” roared Tom, “cut it off, I can’t die this way!”
Pike drew his bowie-knife and had ripped the leg of Tom’s boot half way
down when, thinking the joke had been carried far enough—for I was
satisfied Pike had been playing a trick of some kind—I pushed Pike
aside, and pulled the boot off at once. When the boot was off, behold!
sticking to the bottom of Tom’s stocking, a small prickly pear.
On seeing the prickly pear, where there should have been a scorpion, all
hands laughed, and all were pretty well satisfied that the trick was
Pike’s, as a good deal of sport had been made of him in regard to his
having been snake-bitten. To the surprise of all Tom neither raved nor
swore—said not a word, in fact—but set quietly to work at extracting the
spines which had penetrated his foot in fifty places. He then examined
his boot, which was cut down almost to the heel, drew it on and took his
seat in silence at the camp breakfast. This conduct on Tom’s part gave
Pike great uneasiness, as all could see. At last he said:
“Who in thunder do you suppose put that air cussed par in your boot,
Tom?”
“I suppose you know as much about it as anyone here,” said Tom.
“Me! good Lord I don’t purtend to know. I can’t account for it nohow,
without one of them mountain rats might of done it.”
“Yes,” said Tom, dryly, “mountain rats are mighty fond of runnin’ about
with prickly pears in their mouths, so we’ll say no more about it.”
Pike felt very uneasy about the matter. He didn’t like the way Tom was
acting. After breakfast, when we were alone, he asked me if I didn’t
think Tom would watch his opportunity and shoot him. When all had
breakfasted it was concluded to scout out and prospect at a greater
distance from camp than we had yet done. While some of us prospected the
ravines others were to take the animals and go out into the hills to
look for quartz ledges. Pike wished to go with the quartz-hunters, but
had no animal to ride. To the surprise of all, and almost to the terror
of Pike, Tom offered him his horse. Pike stammered his acceptance and
turned away, looking very quiet. In passing off it fell out that Tom and
myself were to prospect certain ravines. We dug a number of holes down
to the bed-rock and washed and washed out many pans of earth, but a few
small colors was all the gold we could find.
During the day Tom said:
“Do you know that was a villainous trick that Pike played me? To
pretend, too, that he couldn’t get my boot off, when all the time he had
hold about my ankle. Then to go and cut my boot!”
“But you told him to do that.”
“Yes, I know I did, for between you and me, I was awful scared. I
thought I was gone in sure. I’d have bet my life on there being a
scorpion in my boot.”
“Do you know that Pike thinks you intend to kill him?” said I.
“No. Is he such a fool as that?”
“You know men are killed in this country for more trifling things.”
“I don’t want to kill any man, but I do want to play even on Pike. It
was mean on him to put that thing into my boot after we had shook hands
down at the river.”
After a time Tom said: “Pike is a great coward and I’ll watch my chance
and scare the life out of him before this trip is over.”
“So be it,” said I.
As we could find no gold we turned our attention to prospecting for the
beauties of nature. In one place, standing high and dry at some distance
from the cañon, we found a very handsome natural bridge or arch. It was
about eighty feet high, with a span or opening thirty feet in width by
fifty feet in height, and beautifully set off with turrets and spires
which rose from the top of the arch. Near this natural arch we found a
cave, but it proved to be of no great depth. From the remains of fires
in it, it appeared to have been used by the Indians as a place of
shelter.
After wandering about in the hills for some hours we started for camp,
and as we neared it saw a great bustle there among the men. They had
brought in all of the animals and were busily engaged in packing up. As
soon as they saw us approaching they called to us to make haste. Pike
came running towards us, and laying his hand alongside of his mouth,
sang out in a hoarse whisper: “Injuns!”
“Injuns?” said we.
“Yes,” said Pike, “Injuns! Hills full of ’em! Hurry up, we’re goin’ to
light out o’ here!”
The long and short of the story was that Pike and his partner had
crossed the mountain into what was called Sullivan district, when they
found all the miners packing up and leaving for Carson City, on account
of Indians having been seen watching them from the rocks. One of our
boys who was lying in the shade of a bushy cedar, with his boots off,
cooling his feet, had also seen Indians and had rushed into camp. His
story was that, as he was lying under the tree, eleven Indians, all in
war-paint, and each armed with a minie musket and revolver, passed along
a trail about five rods away. They were in single file and were going
eastward at a dog-trot. Thus were the Indians running one way and the
whites another—the opposite direction. On reaching camp we tried to
prevent this stampede, telling the men that the Indians seen were merely
a scouting party, and were probably then many miles away in the
direction of Pyramid Lake, but several said they would bet any money
that the redskins were even then watching us from the tops of some of
the surrounding rocky hills. They could see rocks on the hills that
looked like the heads of Indians, and by watching these some said they
could see them move.
The miners whom we found on the cañon had pulled up stakes and left on
the first alarm. After much talk, a majority of our party declared in
favor of remaining on the cañon another day, but the minority owned the
mules, and swore they were going to leave at once. They said they did
not imagine the Indians would attack us, but they were tired of
prospecting and were going down to Carson River to _fish_. Pike was very
anxious to try his luck at fishing, and was ready to start at once for
Chinatown to buy hooks and lines, if anyone would furnish him a horse.
After much talk, Tom came to me, and said: “Let us go down the cañon a
few miles with these fellows, and then make them camp, where we can have
a night-attack by the Indians, and scare Pike out of his wits.” This was
agreed to, and off we all started. About sundown we reached an open,
grassy spot calling a halt proposed to camp there. The minority would
not hear of such a thing. Pike was the most determined of any, and was
bound to go to the river. The joke of the night-attack had been
whispered among our men, and they determined to keep Pike with us. One
of them took him aside and told him that we had reason to believe that
the Indians were lower down the cañon; that, in fact, they were lying in
wait for us in the rocky hills about its mouth, and that all who went
down that night would be killed.
“Good Lord!” cried Pike, “you don’t say so. Well, if that’s the case
I’ll be dogoned if you ketch me goin’ down thataway!” But Pike presently
had a doubt about this plan. Said he: “If we stop here won’t the cussed
Injuns get tired of waitin’ and come up here after us?”
“Well,” said our man, “but you see we’ll let these fellows go that want
to go so bad, and when the Injuns git them they’ll think they’ve got us
all and so will be satisfied. However, it is almost too bad to let them
go down there and be killed. I guess I’ll go and tell them where the
Injuns are.”
“No, no!” cried Pike, “what are you about. If you tell them and stop
them from goin’ down, thar won’t be no place safe! Don’t talk so loud or
they may take the hint and not go.”
“Come, Pike,” called the fellows who were so anxious to go fishing, “if
you intend to go with us, hurry up, or we’ll leave you!”
“Leave me and be dogoned to you!” cried Pike. “I’ve got a pistol now (a
lie) and I’m goin’ to stay here and have some fun a fightin’ Injuns
’fore mornin’. Go along with you. I’m all right now!”
Pike’s friends were evidently amazed at this sudden exhibition of
courage on his part. They whispered together for a time; then one of
them said: “Gentlemen you may think that you are exhibiting bravery;
but, gentlemen, it is not bravery, it is madness.” This earnest speech
was greeted with a laugh from our side of the house, and the “fishermen”
turned the mules into the trail and were soon out of sight.