THE GODDESS OF FORTUNE SMILES WISTFULLY
"Haul away!" called Jim, from the bottom of the shaft.
Up came the tub, filled with chunks of ore, each about the size
of a man's head.
At the top stood Harry Hazelton, on the crust of two feet of frozen
snow.
Tom thrust his head out through the doorway of the nearby shack
in which the partners lived.
"Is Jim sending up any bricks" he inquired.
"He's sending up ore, but I don't know whether it's any good,"
Harry answered.
"Why don't you look the stuff over?"
"I haven't had the heart to look at it."
Close to the shaft stood a wagon. The horses were resting in
the stable shack, for by this time the weather averaged only a
few degrees above zero and the horses were brought out only when
they could be used.
"Take a good look at the stuff, Harry," called Tom, as soon as
he saw two of the workmen dumping it.
Then Reade closed the door, and went back to the furnace that
he had rigged up under the chimney at one end of the shack.
"Oh, what's the use?" sighed Hazelton, to himself, as he paused,
irresolute. "In weeks and weeks we haven't brought up enough
gold to pay for the keep of the horses."
Still, as Tom had asked him to do so, Hazelton presently walked
over to the little pile that had just been dumped.
"You men up there work faster," sounded Jim's voice. "We want
to send up a tub every five minutes."
"Want the team yet?" bawled the teamster, from another shack.
"No," Harry answered. "Not for a half an hour yet."
That question was enough to cause the young engineer to forget
that he had intended to inspect the tub-load of ore. He strolled
back to the head of the shaft. The wind was biting keenly today.
Harry was dressed in the warmest clothing he had, yet his feet
felt like lumps of lead in his shoes.
"Arizona may be hot, but I'd rather do my mining down there, anyway,"
thought the young engineer. "If I could move about more, this
wouldn't be so bad."
Just off of the shaft was a rough shack several feet square which
contained a small cylinder of a wood stove. There was a fire
going in the stove, now, but Harry knew from experience that if
he went in to the stove to get warm, he would only feel the cold
more severely when he came out again.
"Say, I don't know why I couldn't run that furnace as well as
Tom, and he likes this cold stuff better than I do," murmured
Hazelton. "I am going to see if he won't swap jobs for a couple
of hours."
"Getting anything out of those ore-tests of yesterday's dump?"
Harry demanded, entering their shack.
"Not so much," Tom replied cheerily. "We're in a bad streak of
stuff, Harry. But I thought you were watching the dump. What's
the matter? Too cold out there?"
"Yes," nodded Harry. "I feel like a last year's cold storage
egg. Don't you want to spell me a bit out there, Tom? I can
run the furnace in here."
"Certainly," Reade agreed, leaping up. "There's nothing to do,
now, but weigh the button when it cools."
"Did you really get a button?" Harry asked, casually, as he drew
off his heavy overcoat.
"Yes; a small one."
"How much ore did you take it from?"
"About two tons, I should say."
"Then, if the button is worth sixty cents," mocked Harry, "it
will show that our ore is running thirty cents to the ton."
"Oh, we'll have better ore, after a while," Tom laughed.
"We've got to have," grunted Hazelton, "or else we'll have to
walk all the way to our next job."
"Just weigh the button, when it cools, and enter the weight on
this page of the notebook," directed Reade, then went for his
own outdoor clothing. "Have you been inspecting the dump as the
stuff came up?"
"You'll think me a fool," cried Harry, "but I totally forgot it."
"No matter," Tom answered cheerily. "I've been doing bench work
so long in here that I need exercise. I can run over all the
stuff."
After Reade had pulled on his overcoat and buttoned it he fastened
a belt around his waist. Through this he thrust a geologist's
hammer.
"Don't go to sleep, Harry, old fellow, until you've cooled and
weighed the button. Then you may just as well take a nap as not."
"There he goes," muttered Hazelton, as the door closed briskly.
"Faith and enthusiasm are keeping Tom up. He could work twenty-four
hours and never feel it. I wish I had some of his faith in this
ridge. I could work better for it. Humph! I'm afraid the ridge
will never yield anything better than clay for brick-making!"
Harry did succeed in keeping his eyes open long enough to attend
to the button. That tiny object weighed, and the weight entered,
Hazelton sat back in his chair. Within a minute his eyes had
closed and he was asleep.
Tom Reade, out at the ore dump, looked anything but sleepy. With
tireless energy he turned over the pieces of rock, pausing, now
and then, to hold up one for inspection.
In reaching for a new piece his foot slipped. Glancing down,
to see just where the object was on which he had slipped, Tom
suddenly became so interested that he dropped down on his knees
in the snow.
It was a piece of rock that had come up in the first tubful.
At one point on the piece of rock there was a small, dull yellow
glow.
Reads pawed the rock over in eager haste. Then he drew the hammer
from his belt, striking the rock sharply. Piece after piece fell
away until a solid yellow mass, streaked here and there faintly
with quartz, lay in his hand.
"By the great Custer!" quivered Tom.
"What's the matter, boss?" called one of the workmen. "Got a sliver
in your hand?"
"Have I?" retorted Tom joyously. "Come here and take a look."
"Haul away!" sounded Ferrers's hoarse voice from below.
"Tell Jim to stop sending and come up a minute," nodded Tom.
"Do you often see a finer lump than this?" Tom wanted to know
as the two workmen came to him. He held up a nugget. Shaped
somewhat like a horn-of-plenty, it weighed in the neighborhood
of three ounces.
"Say, if there are many more like that down at the foot of the
shaft this old hole-in-the-ridge will be a producer before another
week is out!" answered one of the workmen. "How much is it worth,
boss?"
"Allowing for the quartz that streaks this little gold-piece,
it ought to be worth from forty to fifty dollars," Tom responded
thoughtfully.
"Fifty dollars?" broke in Jim Ferrers, as he sprang from the top
ladder to the ground. "Is there that much money on the Indian
Smoke?"
"Not minted, of course," laughed Tom. "But here's something as
good as money."
"Where did you get it?" Jim demanded, tersely, after one look
at the nugget.
"In this ore-dump."
"Today's send-up, then?"
"Of course."
Without a word Ferrers fell at work on the pile of rocks, turning
them over fast.
Tom helped him. The two men, released from hoisting duty, also
aided.
"Nothing more like that sticking out of the rock," Jim grunted,
turning to one of the men. "Bring me a sledge."
With that larger hammer, held in both hands, Jim placed ore pieces
with his feet, swiftly bringing down sharp blows that reduced
the rocks to nearly the size of pebbles.
"I don't see any more nuggets coming," mused! Tom. "But wait
a minute. Look at the yellow streak through some of these fragments."
"We're getting into the vein, I believe," spoke Jim solemnly.
"Look at the stuff! But wait! I've a little more hammering to do."
Back of them stood the teamster, who had just come up with the horses.
"Am I to take that stuff and dump it down the ravine?" he asked
slowly.
"If you do," retorted Ferrers heatedly, "I'll hammer in the top
of your head, Andy! Reade, won't you pick out what you want for
the site of the ore-dump. We've got some real ore at last!"
One of the two hoist-men now ran to the shaft, shouting down the
great news.
"Hold on there, Bill," Tom called dryly. "Don't get the boys excited
over what may turn out to be nothing. Don't tell 'em any more than
that we have-----"
"Tell 'em yourself, boss," retorted Bill. "Here they come!"
From the ladder a steady stream of men discharged itself until the
last one was up.
"Where are you going, Tim?" called Tom, turning just in time to
note big Walsh's movements.
"Going to call Mr. Hazelton, sir."
"Don't do it. Don't get him stirred up for nothing."
"For nothing, boss?"
"Don't bother Hazelton until we can tell him something more definite.
Boys, with all my heart I hope that we have something as good
as we appear to have. But every man of you knows that, once in
a while, gold is found abundantly in a few hundred pounds of rock,
and then, from that point on, no more yellow is found. We won't
get excited until we get our first thousand dollars' worth out
of the ground and have the smelter's check in hand. We'll hope---and
pray---but we won't cheer just yet."
"Humph! If you don't want us to cheer, then what shall we do?"
demanded big Walsh.
"We'll work!" Tom retorted energetically. "We'll work as we never
did before. We'll keep things moving every minute of the time.
Back with you into the shaft and out into the tunnel! You hoist-men
stand by for a big performance with the tub. Jennison, you may
stay up from below and tote specimens for me. I shall be at the
furnace until midnight at the least."
"I'll tote for you till daylight, if the good streak only holds
out," laughed Jennison, with glowing eyes.
"Come softly into the shack when you do come," Tom directed.
"I'm going to put Mr. Hazelton to bed, and I don't want any one
to wake him. When I play out tonight he'll have to be fresh enough
to take my place at the assay bench and furnace."
Softly Tom entered their shack.
Harry lay fast asleep, breathing heavily.
"This won't do, old fellow," spoke Tom gently, shaking his chum's
shoulder. "No; don't wake up. Just get into bed. I may want
to turn in later, and, when I do, I may have some work left over
that I'll want you to do."
"Anything up?" asked Harry drowsily.
"I'm going to be busy for a while, and then I want you to be,"
Tom answered.
He half pushed his chum toward the narrow bunk against the wall.
Drowsy Hazelton needed no urging, but stretched himself out in
his bunk.
Tom drew the blankets up over him, adding:
"Don't stir until I call you."
Hour after hour the men below in the mine sent up tub-lots of
rock. Jim spent half of his time above ground, the rest below.
Jennison was busy bringing the best samples in to Reade, but
he walked so softly that Harry slept peacefully on.
Still the yellow rock came up. None of it looked like the richest
sort of ore, but it was good gold-bearing stuff, none the less.
Tom made many assays. It was seven in the evening ere the excited
miners would agree to knock off work for the day.
Then Tom quit and had supper with them. There was excitement
in the air, but Tom still counseled patience.
"We'll know more in a week than we do now," he urged.
"That's all right, Mr. Reade," laughed Tim Walsh. "As long as
you were hopeful we didn't bring up enough yellow to pay for the
dynamite we used in blasting. Now, boss, you're begging us not
to be hopeful, and the luck is changing."
"I'm not kicking against hopefulness," Tom objected, smiling.
"All I ask of you men is not to spend the whole year's profits
from the mine before we get even one load fit to haul to the smelter."
"We've got the ore dump started," retorted Jennison, "and we don't
have to haul stuff to the smelter. Boss, you can raise money
enough without hauling a single load before spring."
"How?" Tom wanted to know.
"The banks at Dugout will lend you a small fraction of the value
of the dump as soon as they're satisfied that it has any value,"
Jim Ferrers explained.
"I didn't know that," Tom admitted.
"Now you can understand why the boys are excited tonight. They
know you'll outfit the camp liberally enough if the yellow streak
holds out."
"Outfit the camp liberally?" repeated Tom. "I'll go just as far
in that line as my partners will stand for."
"We want a bang-up Christmas dinner, you see, boss," Tim Walsh
explained. "We wouldn't have spoken of it if this streak hadn't
panned today. Now, we know we're going to have doings on the
ridge this winter."
"If the yellow rook holds out," Tom urged.
"Don't say anything more in that strain, just now, Reade," whispered
Jim. "If you do, and things go badly, the boys will think you've
been the camp's Jonah."
Tom went back to work in the partners' shack. Jim came in at ten
and went to bed. It was midnight when Tom shook Harry by the shoulder.
"Time to get up, young man, and give me a rest," Tom announced.
Harry got drowsily out of his bunk.
"Why didn't you call me before, Tom?"
"Well, to tell the truth, I was too busy. But now you may have
a few hours' work all by yourself, while I turn in," drawled Reade.
"Tom, old fellow, there's something up," discovered Hazelton,
now studying his chum's face keenly. "Out with it."
Then Tom told of the day's luck, though he cautioned Harry against
too soon growing elated.
"We'll just wait and hope," Reade finished. "Now I'll show you
the work that's on the bench."
The gold news had waked up Hazelton. He examined eagerly the
assay reports that Tom had filled out, then turned to the specimens
that awaited his attention.
At six in the morning Reade was up again, nor did Harry turn in.
Both were present to inspect the first tub-lot of ore that came
up the shaft. The yellow streak was continuing.
By the middle of the afternoon, however, the streak played out.
Though the men worked an hour overtime they did not succeed in
sending up any more ore.
"Just one pocket?" wondered Tom. "Or does our vein run in scattered
pockets?"
"Oh, we'll find more pockets soon," predicted Harry cheerily.
"Our luck has turned again. It's running in the old channels."
A feverish week passed. Towards its end the first big snow of
the winter came, and the ridge was shut off from the rest of the
world. It would have been all but impossible to get over even
to the Bright Hope Mine.
The week of brisk work was using up the stock of dynamite, while
the rock was too hard to work much with picks. Moreover, the
money of the partners was gone. To seek credit at Dugout would
be a dangerous proceeding, for those who granted the accommodation
of credit would be sure to want a high price for it, even to a
goodly share in the output of the mine. More than one mine has
been taken over by creditors, and the original owners have gone
out into the world again, poor men.
Saturday morning of this week Tom and Harry descended the shaft
together. Jim was already there with the men.
"I thought we had two more boxes of dynamite, Reade," explained
Ferrers. "I find that we have just six sticks left."
"Then may the Fates favor us with some lucky blasts!", muttered Tom.
"We can borrow money on our ore dump," suggested Harry.
"How about that?" asked Tom, looking intently at Ferrers.
"How much do you figure there is in the dump?" queried Jim.
"About two hundred dollars' worth of metal."
Ferrers shook his head.
"It would cost us forty dollars to cart the stuff to Dugout in
the Spring. Then there'd be the smelter's charges. We couldn't
borrow more than fifty dollars on such security. No bank is going
to bother with such a small item."
Tom said nothing, but went forward to the heading of the tunnel.
Here he made a careful examination ere he ordered the men to go
ahead.
One after another five sticks of the dynamite were fired in small
blasts, but the ore that came out did not suggest hope.
Then another drilling was made, and the sixth stick put in place,
the magneto wires being connected with the charge.
Tom himself seized the magneto handle.
"Now, hold your breaths," he called, cheerily. "This blast means
a lot, and then a bit more, to all of us. This blast may point
the path to fortune!"