The Pike's Peak Rush Part 18

Good-bye; meet you later, I hope."

"I don't believe we'll wait for that convention," proposed Harry. "And I don't believe we ought to put in much time hunting for your father's mine. We'll get right into the new diggin's before every spot's taken."

Harry evidently was catching the fever. "First, though----"

"Paper? _Rocky Mountain News!_ Fresh off the press! Buy a paper, Mister?

Tell you all about the latest strikes, and where to go."

He was a very slim, tall young man whose trousers were finished off below the knees with gunny sacking, in order to cover his long legs.

"Yes. Let me have one," responded Harry. And added, to Terry, while handing out a dime: "That'll give us the quickest information."

The tall slim young man was turning the dime over and over in his palm.

"No good," he said. "Nothing less than a quarter goes, out here."

"But they told us picks and spades are fifteen cents."

"In trade, maybe. But these papers are a quarter, Mister. Two bits.

That's the smallest change in camp. Dust or coin."

"Hum!" grunted Harry, producing a quarter. He scratched his nose as he glanced at the paper. "At this rate we'll soon be busted."

The paper was ent.i.tled "_Rocky Mountain News_, Cherry Creek, K. T."--the initials standing, of course, for Kansas Territory. W. N. Byers was proprietor. It was printed on a coa.r.s.e brownish paper--seemed to be full of items about gold being brought in from "gulches"--a number of advertis.e.m.e.nts and announcements--had the convention call--

"We'll read it in camp," quoth Harry. "Gwan, Duke! Jenny! Haw!"

"Want to sell that buffalo, stranger?" interrupted another voice.

This man was a square, stubbly faced, red-faced and red-haired individual, in a faded cotton shirt and old army trousers belted at the waist with a rope.

"Why--I don't know," replied Harry, reflectively, scratching his nose.

The man walked around Duke, scrutinizing him.

"He's got a buckskin patch on. We'd better watch out," whispered Terry, to his partner. So he had: the whole seat of his trousers was buckskin coa.r.s.ely st.i.tched in place.

"Half the men in camp have buckskin or other patches," chuckled Harry.

"That gives me an idea."

"Offer you $25, dust, stranger," abruptly spoke the man. "He's lame. You can't use him. He'll be no good in the diggin's."

"What'll you do with him, then?" questioned Harry.

"Put him in my show. He won't have to work. And he's too tough for butchering. But he'll be all right on exhibition."

"Hum!" mused Harry. "My partner and I'll talk it over. We're going to camp over night before going on."

"If you're aiming for the mountains, you'll have to leave him, anyway.

The trail is straight up--takes twenty oxen to haul half a ton. I'll give you $35, dust, for buffalo and cart. I'll exhibit 'em both."

"We'll talk it over," repeated Harry.

"So long, then. You can find me. Name of Reilly."

"What do you say, Terry?" queried Harry, as they continued on to a camping spot. "Duke's yours."

"No, he's part of the outfit. We're in together, aren't we? But I'd hate to sell him unless he'll be treated well. Maybe we ought to sell him; he's lame. Haven't we any money left?"

"Mighty little. And we're nearly out of grub, too. If newspapers are twenty-five cents each, what'll a sack of flour cost? I was thinking of a shave and a hair-cut, but----! I'll shave myself and we'll cut each other's hair."

"If that mine is somewhere around yet, we may not have to sell him."

"And we'll need the cart to pack our gold in," added Harry. "But Duke and the cart wouldn't be much good up in the mountains, I should think."

They were fortunate in finding a camping place, with wood and water, near the mouth of Cherry Creek, at the Platte, and there tied Duke and Jenny out. The first thing to do was to wash--the next thing to write home--and the next, to have an early supper.

"We'll go back in before the post-office closes, look for some of the Russells, and do all that we can; and be ready to start right along somewhere or other in the morning."

"That's it," agreed Terry. "Whew, but there must be a lot of people hunting gold. Wonder if all of those on that trail are bound for the Gregory diggin's! We'll have to hurry." For he was getting the fever, too.

"We will," promised Harry.

When they had left Shep on guard and had hastened back into Denver, a line of men extended for one hundred yards from the window in the stage office labeled "Letter Express." Harry stood in the line until almost sunset. He returned to Terry with puzzled face.

"We got a letter, all right, but it cost twenty-five cents extra, and the one I mailed cost another twenty-five cents, just up to Fort Laramie on the North Platte. Then the government takes it on. There's only a private express out of here, for mail, and it's doing a great business."

However, that letter from the Big Blue was worth the twenty-five cents.

Now, with the approach of night, Denver and Auraria, its neighbor, were lively. The Denver House hotel seemed to be devoted mainly to drinking and gambling. The long bar was crowded with all sorts of people; and behind the card tables sat men, some of them in white silk shirts and black broadcloth suits, urging bets.

Across the street was a collection of Indian tepees--an Arapahoe village, according to report. The women and children stayed among the lodges, but their husbands and fathers strolled everywhere, in blankets and buffalo robes, saying little and seeing much.

"There's Chief Little Raven--and Left Hand, too!" exclaimed Terry. "Wait a second. I'm going to ask them about Thunder Horse."

Little Raven and Left Hand soberly shook hands with their former acquaintances.

"Thunder Horse he dead from his leg," explained Left Hand. "Dog bite poison him--mebbe he poison dog. Whiskey bad, make him fool. One day he die; the two foolish men who run away in that wagon take him on in wagon and sell him same day to one big-mouth man near the Republican trail.

Now his head is in Aurary. You want to see?"

"Pine Knot Ike's come!" a.s.serted Terry, as he and Harry proceeded to Auraria, whither they were bound anyway. "I don't want to see him."

"I'd a heap rather see Sol," answered Harry. "But we'll try to see the Russells. That's important."

The creek was so nearly dry that several tents and log shacks had been placed in its sandy bed. The banks were about four feet high here, and a shaky log foot-bridge crossed from town to town.

Auraria was larger than Denver City, but the buildings were rougher, whereas the Denver City logs had been surfaced and trimmed. Still, Auraria seemed to have the princ.i.p.al store building, as yet--a story and a half high, with a lumber roof. The upper floor was occupied by the _Rocky Mountain News_. Through the gla.s.s window the printers might be seen setting type. Under them was a noisy saloon.

Miners, emigrants, Mexicans, Indians--flannel shirts, heavy boots, moccasins, much whiskers and long hair: in this respect the Auraria out of doors was like the Denver out of doors.