THE POCKET GULCH MINES--INVADERS OF THEM.
We see fit to change the scene once more back to the pocket gulch--the
home of the sweet, sad-faced Anita. The date is one month later--one
long, eventful month since Justin McKenzie shot down Ned Harris under
the noonday sun, a short distance above Deadwood.
Returning to the Flower Pocket by the route to the rugged transverse
gulch, and thence through the gaping fissure, we find before us a
scene--not of slumbering beauty, but of active industry and labor,
such as was not here when we last looked into the flower-strewn
paradise of the Hills.
The flowers are for the most part still intact, though occasionally
you will come across a spot where the hand of man hath blighted their
growth.
Where stood the little vine-wreathed cabin now may be seen a larger
and more commodious log structure, which is but a continuation of the
original.
A busy scene greets our gaze all around. Men are hurrying here and
there through the valley--men not of the pale-face race, but of the
red race; men, clad only to the waist, with remarkable muscular
developments, and fleetness of foot.
Over the little creek which dashes far adown from pine-dressed
mountain peaks, and trails its shining waters through the flowering
land, is built another structure--of logs, strongly and carefully
erected, and thatched by a master hand with bark and grass. From the
roof projects a small smoke-stack, from which emanates a steady cloud
of smoke, curling lazily upward toward heaven's blue vault, and inside
is heard the grinding, crushing rumble of ponderous machinery, and we
rightly conjecture that it is a crusher in full operation. Across from
the northern side of the gulch comes a steady string of mules in line,
each pulling behind him a jack-sled (or, what is better known to the
general reader as a stone-boat) heavily laden with huge quartz rocks.
These are dumped in front of one of the large doorways of the crusher,
and the "empties" return mechanically and disappear within a gaping
fissure in the very mountain side--a sort of tunnel, which the hand of
man, aided by that great and stronger arm--powder--has burrowed and
blasted out.
All this is under the Immediate management of the swarthy-skinned
red-men, whose faces declare them to be a remnant of the once great
Ute tribe--now utilized to a better occupation than in the dark and
bloody days of the past.
Near the crusher building is a large, stoutly-constructed windlass,
worked by mule power, and every few moments there comes up to the
surface from the depths of a shaft, a bucketful of rock and sand,
which is dumped into a push-car, and from thence transferred to the
line of sluice-boxes in the stream, where more half-clothed Utes are
busily engaged in sifting golden particles from the rich sand.
What a transformation is all this since we left the Flower Pocket a
little over a month ago! Now, everywhere within those majestic
mountain-locked walls is bustle and excitement; then, the valley was
sleeping away the calm, perfume-laden autumnal days, unconscious of
the mines of wealth lying nestling in its bosom, and content and happy
in its quietude and the adornments of nature's beauties.
Now, shouts, ringing halloos, angry curses at the obstinate mules, the
rumbling of ponderous machinery, the clink of picks and reports of
frequent blasts, the deadened sound of escaping steam, the barking of
dogs, the whining of horses--all these sounds are now to be heard.
Then, the valley was peacefully at rest; the birds chimed in their
exquisite music to the Æolian harp-like music of the breeze through
the branches of the mountain pines; the waters pouring adown from the
stupendous peaks created an everlasting song of love and constancy;
bees and humming-birds drank delicious draughts from the blushing lips
of a million nodding flowers; the sun was more hazy and
drowsy-looking; everything had an appearance of ethereal peace and
happiness.
But, like a drama on the stage, a grand transformation had taken
place; a beautiful dream had been changed into stern reality; quietude
and slumber had fled at the bold approach of bustling industry and
life. And all this transformation is due to whom?
The noonday sun shone down on all the busy scene with a glance of
warmth and affection, and particularly did its rays center about two
men, who, standing on the southern side of the valley, up in among the
rugged foothills, were watching the living panorama with the keenest
interest.
They were Harry Redburn and the queer old hump-backed, bow-legged
little locator, "General" Walsingham Nix.
Redburn was now looking nearly as rough, unkempt and grizzled as any
veteran miner, and for a bet, he actually had not waxed the ends of
his fine mustache for over a week. But there was more of a healthy
glow upon his face, a robustness about his form, and a light of
satisfaction in his eye which told that the rough miner's life agreed
with him exceedingly well.
The old "General" was all dirt, life and animation, and as full of his
eccentricities as ever. He was a character seldom met with--ever full
of a quaint humor and sociability, but never known to get mad, no
matter how great the provocation might be.
His chance strike upon the spot where lay the gold of Flower Pocket
imbedded--if it could be called a chance, considering his dream--was
the prelude to the opening up of one of the richest mining districts
south of Deadwood.
We left them after Harry had driven a stake to mark the place which
the somnambulist had pointed out as indicating the concealed mine.
On the succeeding day the two men set to work, and dug long and
desperately to uncover the treasure, and after three days of incessant
toil they were rewarded with success. A rich vein of gold, or, rather,
a deposit of the valuable metal was found, it being formed in a deep,
natural pocket and mixed alternately with sand and rock.
During the remaining four days of that week the two lucky miners took
out enough gold to evidence their supposition that they had struck one
of the richest fields in all the Black Hills country. Indeed, it
seemed that there was no end to the depth of sand in the shaft, and as
long as the sand held out the gold was likely to.
When, just in the flush of their early triumph, the old humpback was
visited by another somnambulistic fit, and this time he discovered
gold down in the northern mountain side, and prophesied that the
quartz rock which could be mined therefrom would more than repay the
cost and trouble of opening up the vein and of transporting machinery
to the gulch.
We need not go into detail of what followed; suffice it to say that
immediate arrangements were made and executed toward developing this
as yet unknown territory.
While Redburn set to work with two Ute Indians (transported to the
gulch from Deadwood, under oath of secrecy by the "General") to blast
into the mountain-side, and get at the gold-bearing quartz, the old
locater in person set out for Cheyenne on the secret mission of
procuring a portable crusher, boiler and engine, and such other
implements as would be needed, and getting them safely into the gulch
unknown to the roving population of the Hills country. And most
wonderful to relate, he succeeded.
Two weeks after his departure, he returned with the machinery and two
score of Ute Indians, whom he had sworn into his service, for, as a
Ute rarely breaks his word, they were likely to prove valuable
accessories to the plans of our two friends. Redburn had in the
meantime blasted in until he came upon the quartz rock. Here he had to
stop until the arrival of the machinery. He however busied himself in
enlarging the cabin and building a curb to the shaft, which occupied
his time until at last the "General" and his army returned.[D]
Now, we see these two successful men standing and gazing at the result
of their joint labors, each financially happy; each growing rich as
the day rolls away.
The miners are in a prosperous condition, and everything moves off
with that ease and order that speaks of shrewd management and constant
attention to business.
The gold taken from the shaft is much finer than that extracted from
the quartz.
The quartz yielded about eighteen dollars to the ton, which the
"General" declared to be as well as "a feller c'u'd expect,
considerin' things, more or less!"
Therefore, it will be seen by those who have any knowledge whatever of
gold mining that, after paying off the expenses, our friends were not
doing so badly, after all.
"Yes, yes!" the "General" was remarking, as he gazed at the string of
mules that alternately issued from and re-entered the fissure on the
opposite side of the valley; "yes, yes, boyee, things ar' workin' as I
like ter see 'em at last. The shaft'll more'n pay expenses if she
holds her head 'bove water, as I opine she will, an' w'at ar' squeezed
out uv the quartz ar' cleer 'intment fer us."
"True; the shaft is more than paying off the hands," replied Redburn,
seating himself upon a bowlder, and staring vacantly at the dense
column of smoke ejected from the smoke-stack in the roof of the
crusher building.
"I was looking up accounts last evening, and after deducting what you
paid for the machinery, and what wages are due the Utes, we have about
a thousand dollars clear of all, to be divided between three of us."
"Exactly. Now, that's w'at I call fair to middling. Of course thar'll
be more or less expense, heerafter, but et'll be a consider'ble less
o' more than more o' less. Another munth'll tell a larger finanshell
tale, I opine"
"Right again, unless something happens more than we think for now. If
we get through another month, however, without being nosed out, why we
may consider ourselves all-fired lucky."
"Jes' so! Jes' so! but we'll hev ter take our chances. One natteral
advantage, we kin shute 'em as fast as they come--"
"Ho!" Redburn interrupted, suddenly, leaping to his feet; "they say
the devil's couriers are ever around when you are talking of them.
Look! invaders already."
He pointed toward the east, where the passage led out of the valley
into the gorge beyond.
Out of this passage two persons on horseback had just issued, and now
they came to a halt, evidently surprised at the scene which lay spread
out before them.
No sooner did the "General" clap his eyes on the pair than he uttered
a cry of astonishment, mingled with joy.
"It's thet scarlet chap, Fearless Frank!" he announced, hopping about
like a pig on a hot griddle "w'at I war tellin' ye about; the same
cuss w'at desarted Charity Joe's train, ter look fer sum critter w'at
war screechin' fer help. I went wi' the lad fer a ways, but my jackass
harpened to be more or less indispositioned--consider'bly more o' less
than less o' more--an' so I made up my mind not ter continny his
route. Ther last I see'd o' the lad he disappeared over sum kind o' a
precypice, an' calkylatin' as how he war done fer, I rej'ined Charity
Joseph, ar' kim on."
"He has a female in his company!" said Redburn, watching the new-comer
keenly.
"Yas, peers to me he has, an' et's more or less likely that et's the
same critter he went to resky w'en he left Charity Joe's train!"
"What about him? We do not want him here; to let him return to
Deadwood after what he has seen would be certain death to our
interests."
"Yas, thar's more or less truth in them words o' yours,
b'yee--consider'bly more o' less than less o' more. He ken't go back
now, nohow we kin fix et. He's a right peart sort o' a kid, an' I
think ef we was ter guv him a job, or talk reeson'ble ter him, thet
he'd consent to do the squar' thing by us."
Redburn frowned.
"He'll have to remain for a certain time, whether he wants to or not,"
he muttered, more savage than usual. It looked to him as if this was
to be the signal of a general invasion. "Come! let's go and see what
we can do."
They left the foothills, clambered down into the valley and worked
their way toward where Fearless Frank and his companion sat in
waiting.
As they did so, headed by a figure in black, who wore a mask as did
all the rest, a band of horsemen rode out of the fissure into the
valley. One glance and we recognize Deadwood Dick, Prince of the Road,
and his band of road-agents!