Silver and Gold Part 19

CHAPTER XXI

BROKE AGAIN

The industry of four jumpers, digging in like gophers on the best of Bunker Hill's claims, was brought to an abrupt termination by the appearance of one man with a gun. He came on unconcernedly, Dave's six-shooter at his hip and the strength of a lion in his stride; and the first of the gun-men, after looking him over, jumped out of his hole and made off. Denver tore down his notice and posted the old one, with a copy of his original affidavit that the annual work had been done; and when he toiled up to the remaining three claims the jumpers had fled before him. They knew him all too well, and the gun at his hip; and they counted it no disgrace to give way before the man who had conquered Dave Chatwourth with rocks. So Denver changed the notices and came back laughing and Bunker Hill made over the claims.

"Denver," he said clasping him warmly by the hand, "I swow, you're the best danged friend I've got. For the last time, now, will you come to dinner?"

"Sure," grinned Denver, "but cut out that 'friend' talk. It makes me kind of nervous."

"I'll do it!" promised Bunker, "I'll do anything you ask me. You saved my bacon on them claims. That snooping Dutch Professor tipped them jumpers off that I'd promised my wife not to shoot, but I guess when they see you come rambling up the gulch they begin to feel like Davey Crockett's c.o.o.n.

"'Don't shoot, Davey,' he says, 'I know you'll get me.' And he came right down off the limb." Old Bunker laughed uproariously and slapped Denver on the back, after which he took him over to the house and announced a guest for dinner.

"Sit down, boy, sit down," he insisted hospitably as Denver spoke of going home to dress, "you're company just the way you are. As Lord Chesterfield says: 'A clean shirt is half of full dress.' And a pair of overalls, I reckon, is the rest of it. Say, did you hear what Murray said when we took Dave over there, looking like something that the cat had brought in?

"'My Gawd,' he says, 'what has happened to the _mine_?'

"That was something like a deacon that I worked for one time when he was fixing to paint his barn. He slung a ladder on an old, rotten rope and sent me up on it to work and about half an hour afterwards the rope gave way and dropped me, ladder and all, to the ground. The deacon was at the house when he heard the crash and he came running with his coat-tails straight out.

"'Goodness gracious!' he hollered, 'did you spill the paint?'

"'No,' I says, 'but I will!' And I kicked all his paint-cans over.

"Well, old Murray is like that deacon; you touch his pocket and you touch his heart--he's always thinking about money. He'd been planning for months to slip in and jump these claims and here you come along and do the a.s.sessment work and knock him out of five of 'em. The boys say he's sure got blood in his eye and is cussing you out a blue streak.

That's a nice gun you got off of Dave--how many notches has it got on the b.u.t.t? Only three, eh? Well, say, if he ever sends over to ask for it I've got another one that I'll loan you. You want to go heeled, understand? Murray's busy right now bossing those three shifts of miners that are driving that adit tunnel, but when he gets the time he'll leave his gla.s.s eye on a fence post and come over to see what we're doing.

Didn't you ever hear about Murray's gla.s.s eye?

"Well, they say he lost his good one looking for a dollar that he dropped; but here's the big joke about the fence-post. He got his start down in the valley, raising alfalfa and feeding stock, and he always hired Indians whenever he could because they spent all their time-checks at the store. A Mexican or a white man might hold out a few dollars, or spend the whole wad for booze; but Indians are barred from getting drunk and they've only got one use for money. Yes, they believe it was made to spend, not to bury alongside of some fence-post. And speaking of fence-posts brings me back to the point--Old Murray had a bunch of big, lazy Apaches working by the day cleaning out a ditch. He was down there at daylight and watched 'em like a hawk, but every time he'd go into town the whole bunch would sit down for a talk. Well, he _had_ to go to town so one day he called 'em up and made 'em a little talk.

"'Boys,' he says, 'I've got to go to town but I'm going to watch you, all the same. Sure thing, now,' he says, 'you can laugh all you want to, but I'll see everything that you do.' Then he took out his gla.s.s eye and set it on a fence-post where it looked right down the ditch, and started off for town. You know these Apaches--superst.i.tious as h.e.l.l--they got in and worked like n.i.g.g.e.rs. Kinder scared 'em, you see, ain't used to gla.s.s eyes; but there was one old boy that was foxy. He dropped down in the ditch where the eye wouldn't see him and crept up behind that fence-post like a snake, and then he picked up an empty tin can and slapped it down over the eye. There was a boy over at the ranch that saw the whole business and he says them Indians never did a lick of work till they saw Bible-Back's dust down the road. Pretty slick, eh, for an Indian? And some people will try to tell you that the untutored savage can't think.

"Well, that's the kind of an hombre that we're up against--he'd skin a flea for his hide and taller. As old Spud Murphy used to say, he'd rob a poor tumble-bug of his ball of manure and put him on the wrong road home. He's mean, and it sure hurt his feelings to have you hop in and win back your mine. And knocking Dave on the head took the pip out of these other jumpers--I'm looking for the whole bunch to fade."

"Well, they might as well," said Denver, "because their claims are not worth fighting for and there's a Miners' Committee going to call on 'em.

I'm going along myself in an advisory capacity, and my advice will be to beat it. And if you'll take a tip from me you'll hire a couple of miners and put them to work on your claims."

"I'll do it to-morrow," agreed Bunker enthusiastically. "I've got a couple of nibbles from some real mining men--not some of these little, one-candle power promoters but the kind that pay with certified checks--and if I can open up those claims and just get a color of copper I'm fixed, boy, that's all there is to it. Come on now, let's go in to dinner."

The memory of that dinner, and of the music that followed it, remained long in Denver's mind; and later in the evening, when the lights were low and her parents had gone to their rest, Drusilla sang the "Barcarolle" from Hoffmann. She sang it very softly, so as not to disturb them, but the look in her eyes recalled something to Denver and as he was leaving he asked her a question. It was not if she loved him, for that would be unfair and might spoil an otherwise perfect evening; but he had been wondering as he listened whether she had not seen him that first time--when he had slipped down and listened from the shadows.

And when he asked her she smiled up at him tremulously and nodded her head very slowly; and then she whispered that she had always loved him for it, just for listening and going away. She had been downcast that night but his presence had been a comfort--it had persuaded her at last that she could sing. She had sung the "Barcarolle" again, on that other night, when he had stepped out so boldly from the shadows; but it was the first time that she loved him for it, when he was still a total stranger and had come just to hear her sing. There was more that she said to him and when he had to go she smiled again and gave him her hand, but he did not suggest a kiss. She was keeping that for him, until she had been to New York and run the gauntlet of the tenors.

This was the high spot in Denver's life, when he had stood upon Parna.s.sus and beheld everything that was good and beautiful; but in the morning he put on his old digging clothes again and went to work in the mine. He had seen her and it was enough; now to break out the ore and win her for his own. For he was poor, and she was poor, and how could she succeed without money? But if he could open up his mine and block out a great ore body then her claims and Bunker's, that touched it on both sides, would take on a speculative value. They could be sold for cash and she could go East in style, to take lessons from the ten-dollar teacher who had influence with directors and impresarios. Denver put in a round of holes and blasted his way into the mountain; but as he came out in the evening, dirty and grimed and pale from powder sickness, Drusilla paled too and almost shrank away. She had strolled up before, only to hear the clank of his steel and the m.u.f.fled thud of his blows; and now as she stood waiting, attired as daintily as a bride, the dream-hero of her memories was banished. He was a miner again, a sweaty, toiling animal, dead to all the finer things of life; but if Denver read her thoughts he did not notice, for he remembered what Mother Trigedgo had told him.

Two weeks pa.s.sed by and Labor Day came near, when all the hardy miners foregathered in Globe and Miami and engaged in the sports of their kind.

A circular came to Denver, announcing the drilling contests and giving his name as one of the contestants; then a personal letter from the Committee on Arrangements, requesting him to send in his entry; and at last there came a messenger, a good hard-rock man named Owen, to suggest that they go in together. But Denver was driving himself to the limit, blasting out ore that grew richer each day; and at thought of Bible-Back Murray, waiting to pounce upon his mine, he sent back a reluctant refusal. Yet they published his name, with the partner's place left vacant, and advertised that he would partic.i.p.ate; for on the Fourth of July, with Slogger Meacham for a partner, he had won the t.i.tle of champion.

The decision to go was forced upon him suddenly on the day before the event, though he had almost lost track of time. Every morning at day-break he had been up and cooking, after breakfast he had gone to the mine; and, between mucking out the tunnel and putting in new shots, the weeks had pa.s.sed like days. But when he went to Bunker on the eighth of September and asked for a little more powder Bunker took him to the powder-house and showed him a s.p.a.ce where the boxes of dynamite had been. Then he took him behind the counter and showed him the money-till and Denver awoke from his dream.

In spite of the stampede and the activity all about them the whole Pinal district was not producing a cent, and would not for months to come.

Every dollar that was spent there had to come in from the outside, and the men who held the claims were all poor. Even after driving off the jumpers and regaining their lost claims the majority had gone home after merely scratching up their old dumps in a vain pretense at doing the a.s.sessment work.

The promoters were not buying, they were simply taking options and waiting on Murray's tunnel; and until he drove in and actually tapped the copper ore there would be no steady boom. He had organized a company and was selling a world of stock, even using it to pay off his men: and it was whispered about that his strike was a fake, for he still refused to exhibit the drill cores. But whether his strike was a bona fide discovery or merely a ruse to sell stock, the fact could not be blinked that Denver and Bunker Hill had reached the end of their rope. They were broke again and Denver set out for Globe, leaving Bunker to hold down his claim.

CHAPTER XXII

THE ROCK-DRILLING CONTEST

The main street of Globe was swarming with men, from the court-house square down past the viaduct to where the Bohunks dwelt. And the men were all miners, deep-chested and square-shouldered, but white from working underground. They were gathered in knots before the soft-drink emporiums that before had all been saloons and as Denver rode in they shouted a hoa.r.s.e welcome and followed on to Miners' Hall. There the Committee of Arrangements was sitting in state but when Denver strode in a huge form bulked up before him and Slogger Meacham grinned at him evilly. Two months before, on the Fourth of July, they had been partners in the winning team; but now Meacham had taken on with a Cornishman from Miami and they counted the money as good as won.

"What are you doing here?" demanded the Slogger insolently, "do you think you're going to compete?"

"Danged right I am, if the judges will let me," answered Denver shoving resolutely past; and at sight of their lost champion the committee brightened up, though they glanced at each other anxiously. But what they wanted was a contest, something that would bring out the crowd and make the great day a success, and they waited upon Denver expectantly.

"Well, here's where you get left then," spoke up Meacham with a sneer, "the entries were closed at noon."

"Oh, h.e.l.l!" cursed Denver and was turning to go when the chairman called him back.

"Just a minute," he said, "didn't you send in your entry? I believe we've got it here, somewhere." He began to fumble industriously through a pile of papers and Denver caught his breath. For a moment he had seen his dreams brought to nothing, his last chance at the prize-money gone; but at this tentative suggestion on the part of the chairman he suddenly took heart of grace. They wanted him to compete, it had been advertised in all the papers, and they were willing to meet him half-way. But Denver was no liar, he shook his head and sighed, then turned back at a sudden thought.

"Maybe Tom Owen made the entry?" he burst out eagerly, "he was over to see me, you know."

"That was it!" exclaimed the chairman as if clutching at a straw, "say, where is that blank of theirs, Joe?"

"Search me," answered Joe, "it's around here, somewhere. Oh, I know!"

And he went out into the back room. "Ain't this it?" he inquired returning with a paper and the chairman s.n.a.t.c.hed it away from him.

"Yes," he said, "how'd it get out there? Well, no matter--that's all right, Mr. Russell!"

"No it ain't!" blurted out Meacham making a grab for the paper; but the chairman struck away his hand.

"You keep out of this!" he said. "What d'ye think you're trying to do?

You keep out or I'll put you out!"

"It's a flim-flam!" raged Meacham, "you're trying to job me. He never made no entry."

"I never claimed to," retorted Denver boldly and Meacham turned on him, his pig eyes blazing with fury.

"I'll fix you, for this!" he burst out hoa.r.s.ely, "I'll get you if I have to kill you. You robbed me once, but you won't do it again; so I give you fair warning--pull out!"