CHAPTER XXIII
THE FIRST DAY AT THE MINES
About three o’clock in the afternoon the stage from Sacramento arrived at Howe’s Gulch.
Among the other passengers Grant descended, his limbs sore from rattling over the roughest kind of roads, and stretching himself, he looked around him.
The stage had drawn up in front of the hotel, but it was not such a hotel as the reader is accustomed to see. It was a long, low frame building, with what might be called an attic overhead, which was used as a general dormitory, with loose beds of straw spread over the floor. Here twenty-five persons slept in a single room. Down below rude meals were supplied for those who could afford to pay the price.
But Grant felt little interest in the hotel. He expected to meet Tom Cooper, and looked out for him.
He had not long to wait.
“How are you, Grant? Delighted to see you. How’s the folks?”
Grant turned, and in the bearded, roughly dressed miner found it difficult to recognize his friend of the plains – Tom Cooper.
His face lighted up as he grasped Tom’s hand cordially.
“Your father and mother are well,” he said, “and so is Mr. Silverthorn.”
“What! have you seen that scoundrel?”
“I left him at Sacramento. He wanted me to pay his fare out here.”
“You declined?”
“Yes; I thought he would be company for your father. He may adopt Silverthorn in your place.”
“He’s welcome to him, if he likes. It’s good for sore eyes to see you, Grant. How do you feel?”
“Sore enough. I thought I should be shaken to pieces over the rough road.”
“You are hungry, I reckon. Come into the hotel, and we’ll have dinner.”
Nothing loath, Grant followed Tom into the dining-room, where dinner was laid in readiness for the stage passengers. It was not such a meal as an epicure would enjoy, but Grant ate with great relish.
“So you have been doing well, Tom?” said Grant, between two mouthfuls.
“Yes; you didn’t tell father what I wrote you?”
“No; you told me not to.”
“What did he say about me?”
“He said that he didn’t believe you were doing much; he thought you had better come back to Sacramento and help him in the shop.”
Tom laughed.
“I think I’ll stay here a little longer,” he replied. “How is dad doing?”
“Finely. He is making ten dollars a day.”
“Good for him! He wouldn’t do for mining. Besides, there’s mother. He’s better off where he is.”
“Where do you sleep, Tom?”
“Upstairs. I have a pair of blankets up there, and a pillow, and I don’t need anybody to make my bed.”
“I suppose I ought to have a pair of blankets.”
“I’ll buy you a pair. There’s a chap going to leave to-day, and we can buy his. Now come out and see the mines.”
Leaving the hotel, Tom led the way to the mining claims. There was a deep gulch half a mile distant, at the base of which ran a creek, and it was along this that the claims were staked out. They were about twenty feet wide, in some cases more. Tom led the way to his, and showed Grant the way he worked. He used a rocker, or cradle. A sieve was fitted in at the top, and into this the miner shoveled the dirt. Tom rocked the cradle with one hand, after it was filled, and poured water on the dirt from a dipper. Gradually the dirt was washed out, and if there was any gold it would remain in small gleaming particles mixed with black sand.
“Isn’t that rather a rough way of working, Tom?” asked Grant, after his tour of inspection.
“Yes; I have been thinking of getting what the miners call a ‘long tom’ – no pun intended.”
“What is that?”
I won’t give Tom’s answer, but quote a more accurate description from an English book published in 1857: “A ‘long tom’ is nothing more than a wooden trough from twelve to twenty-five feet long, and about a foot wide. At the lower end it widens considerably, and the floor of it is a sheet of iron, pierced with holes half an inch in diameter, under which is placed a flat box a couple of inches deep. The long tom is set at a slight inclination over the place which is to be worked, and a stream of water is kept running through it by means of a hose. While some of the party shovel the dirt into the tom as fast as they can dig it up, one man stands at the lower end, stirring up the dirt as it is washed down, separating the stones and throwing them out, while the earth and small gravel fall with the water through the sieve into the ripple box. This box is about five feet long, and is crossed by two partitions. It is also placed at an inclination, so that the water falling into it keeps the dirt loose, allowing the gold and heavy particles to settle to the bottom, while all the lighter stuff washes over the end of the box along with the water.”
The dirt taken out of the ripple box has to be washed out afterward, so as to leave the gold particles.
“Where is the claim you have bought for me, Tom?” asked Grant.
“A little farther down the creek. I will show you.”
“Lend me your cradle, and, see if I can work it.”
Grant took the cradle and, under Tom’s direction, shoveled in some dirt, and proceeded to rock it. He was quite delighted when, as the result of his labors, a few specks of gold appeared at the bottom.
“How much does it amount to, Tom?” he asked, gathering it into his hand.
“Perhaps a dime.”
Grant looked rather disappointed.
“It would take some time to get rich at that rate,” he said rather ruefully.
“Yes; but there is always a chance of ‘striking it rich.’ That is what keeps our spirits up. By the way, Grant, I have a proposal to make to you.”
“What is it, Tom?”
“Suppose we work together. We can take turns in digging, shovelling in the dirt, and rocking the cradle. That will be more sociable, and we can divide equally whatever gold we obtain.”
“That will suit me exactly, Tom; but as you are more experienced than I, you ought to have more than half.”
“No, Grant. It shall be share and share alike. There is another advantage. It will save getting an extra rocker.”
“I am ready to begin at once.”
“Are you not too tired?”
“No, Tom. I want to feel that I have begun to work. If I get tired I can sleep better to-night.”
They worked for two hours, when they knocked off for the day. The work was done on Grant’s claim. Tom estimated the result at a dollar.
“That is fifty cents apiece,” he said. “To-morrow we’ll do better.”
“I don’t mind, Tom. I have made a beginning. Now I feel that I am a miner.”
At six o’clock they went to the hotel, which was a general lounging-place for the miners.
CHAPTER XXIV
GRANT HAS AN ADVENTURE
“Shall we take supper at the hotel?” asked Grant. “How much do they charge?”
“Two dollars a day for meals and lodging.”
“Isn’t that considerable?” asked Grant, rather dismayed.
“Yes, if one only earns fifty cents,” answered Tom, smiling.
“Do you like sleeping in such a crowd, Tom?”
“No; but there seems no other way, unless I bought a cabin, and I should feel too lonely.”
“But now there are two of us together. Why can’t we hire a cabin, and lodge and eat independently? We can take turns in doing the cooking, and it will be a good deal cheaper.”
“Do you know anything about cooking, Grant? I don’t.”
“Yes; I took some lessons at the restaurant. I can teach you all I know myself.”
“Then we can establish ourselves to-morrow. There is a deserted cabin a little way up the gulch, which no one seems to care to occupy. It is in fair condition, and the last occupant kept house, so that there are dishes and cooking utensils. We can take possession, and then, if any one disputes our right, we can agree to pay rent.”
“That will be capital,” said Grant, in a tone of satisfaction.
For a month Grant and Tom Cooper worked assiduously, sometimes at one claim, sometimes at the other. The life of a miner is full of excitement. Even when he meets with poor luck, there is the prospect every day of making a rich find. But in the case of the two friends it was always hope deferred. At the end of the month they sat down to consider the situation.
“Well, Grant, we don’t seem to get much richer,” said Tom, taking a whiff from a clay pipe, which was his evening luxury after a hard day’s work.
“We made fifty cents yesterday,” responded Grant soberly.
“Between us. That is twenty-five cents each.”
“On the whole, we have been losing ground during the last month. I am twenty dollars poorer than when I came here.”
“And I have fallen behind as much, or more than that.”
“Digging for gold isn’t what I thought it to be,” said Grant. “I was doing a good deal better in Sacramento.”
“That maybe; but we mustn’t forget that a man does strike luck once in a while.”
“It won’t do us any good to have some other man strike luck.”
“I see you are getting down-hearted, Grant.”
“Well, not exactly; but I think I’ve made a mistake. Neither of our claims amounts to much.”
“What do you propose, then?”
“I have nothing to propose,” said Grant modestly. “You are older and more experienced than I. I will follow your plan.”
“Then let us work three days longer. If, at the end of that time, nothing turns up, we will pull up stakes, and go elsewhere. We can’t afford to go on working and falling behind all the time.”
“Three days then, Tom.”
“You haven’t had any luck yet, Grant. I had a share before you came.”
“I am afraid my coming brought you bad luck.”
“Bad luck or not, I am glad to have you here. After a hard day’s work it seems pleasant to have some one to talk to.”
“If I should leave you, how would Silverthorn do?” asked Grant, smiling.
“Poor company is worse than none. I’d rather hustle by myself than have that man ’round.”
The next morning the two partners went to work as usual. They always started hopeful of good results, but, as the day wore away and results were meager, their hopes began to sink. That day they cleared between them a dollar and a half, while their expenses, at a modest calculation, so high were provisions, were nearly double this sum.
“Another day lost!” commented Tom as they sat over their evening fire, for it was beginning to grow cold at the close of the day.
“We won’t say anything about it,” said Grant. “Let the three days pass, and then we will consult.”
About the middle of the next afternoon Grant was attacked by a violent headache.
“I shall have to close up work for the day, Tom,” he said.
“Go to the cabin and lie down,” suggested Tom.
“I would rather go on a walk. The fresh air may do me good.”
Grant dipped his handkerchief in the stream, bathed his forehead, and then set out on a stroll to the south of the claims. Finding relief, he pushed on till he had probably walked a couple of miles.
It was a lonely stretch of country, and, with the exception of a boy, he met no one. His surprise was the greater, therefore, when at one point he heard a groan, evidently proceeding from some one in pain. He looked about him, and finally discovered an old man lying under a tree, doubled up with pain. It was hard to tell his age, for his appearance was neglected, and he had the air of one who lived apart from his fellow men.
“What is the matter?” asked Grant, in a tone of sympathy. “Can I help you?”
“I am suffering from an attack of rheumatism,” answered the old man. “It came upon me suddenly, and has disabled me, as you see.”
“What can I do for you?”
“If you can help me to my cabin it will be a great service.”
“Where is your cabin?”
“In the edge of yonder woods.”
He pointed feebly, and Grant, following the direction, espied a small hut, brown and discolored with age, standing under the shadow of a rock about a quarter of a mile away.
He helped the old man to his feet, and half supported him as he walked toward the cabin.
“Are you often seized in this way?” he asked.
“Not often so suddenly and violently, though I have been in the grip of my enemy for years.”
CHAPTER XXV
ANOTHER LONELY CABIN
They reached the cabin at last, and then a question which Grant was about to ask was answered. The old man lived alone.
The furniture was of the simplest: a bed, a couple of chairs, a table, and a few dishes.
“Is there no one to take care of you?” asked Grant.
“No, I need no one,” was the quick reply. “I have remedies that will soon quiet the pain.”
“I should think you would feel lonely.”
“I prefer solitude to the society of mean, selfish, and designing men,” answered the old man bitterly.
“All men are not mean or selfish.”
“No doubt you are right, but those whom I trusted most have proved so.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Six years.”
“Are you – poor? If so, perhaps I can help you.”
“No, no; poverty is the smallest of my troubles. Look there!” and the old man drew from his pocket a handful of gold pieces. “I have enough to see me through the few years I have yet to live.”
“But you have no occupation – no way to fill up your time?”
“I have a few books and my own thoughts. I will tell you what little is to be told. I came here six years ago, and for a time devoted myself to gold-digging. I was fortunate, and secured all I needed for my modest wants. Then I stopped, for I had no object in accumulating more. But you tell me about yourself. You are young to be in California.”
“Yes, I came to seek my fortune. I was a poor boy, and my mother is unhappily situated. I came to see if I could not improve her lot and my own.”
“What are you doing?”
“I am digging for gold.”
“Where?”
“At Howe’s Gulch.”
“Have you succeeded?”
“So poorly that I am thinking of giving it up and going elsewhere. In Sacramento I worked in a restaurant, and made a good deal more money than I have made at the mines. I am twenty dollars poorer than when I came here.”
“Are you alone?”
“No, I have a friend with me – a young man whose acquaintance I made in crossing the plains.”
“Is he a true friend – a loyal friend?”
“Yes.”
“Then there are such in the world. Those I have met have been of a different kind. Has he been any more fortunate than yourself?”
“Not since I arrived. He did something before I came, but I must have brought him bad luck, for he has been running behind ever since. We have not been making expenses for the last month.”
“I never thought much of Howe’s Gulch, though some have been fortunate there.”
“Then it was not there that you found your gold?”
“No.”
Grant wanted to ask the old man where it was that his claim was located, but hesitated, not knowing how the question would be received.
“I can direct you to a rich spot,” said the old man, after a pause. “I had intended to let the secret die with me, but you have done me a service – ”
“A very slight one,” said Grant modestly.
“Not slight, for without your help I should have been unable to get home.”
“I was glad to serve you, and do not need compensation. You may wish to work the claim yourself.”
“No; my days of labor are over. I am sixty-five, and might easily be taken for ten years older. I shall be glad to contribute to your happiness and success, and that of your friend.”
“Perhaps some one may have discovered and worked the claim.”
“No; it is an out-of-the-way place, and has not attracted attention.”
“How, then, did you discover it?”
“By accident. As to the richness, let this convince you: in less than six months I took out ten thousand dollars, and having no need of more, stopped working, and carefully removed all traces likely to betray the mine’s entrance to a casual observer.”
“It will be a great favor to Tom and myself. We ought to give you a share of the proceeds.”
The old man shook his head.
“I shall not live long enough to spend the money I have,” he answered. “You are welcome to all it will yield you. Come here with your friend to-morrow morning, and I will give you the directions that will enable you to find the claim.”
“Can I do anything more for you before I go?”
“Yes; you may go to the stream behind the cabin and bring me some fresh water.”
Grant did as requested, and, elated by his unexpected good luck, started on his return to Howe’s Gulch.
When Grant reached the cabin jointly occupied by himself and Tom Cooper, he found Tom sitting outside, smoking his pipe.
He looked very thoughtful.
“Have you got rid of your headache, Grant?” he asked.
“Yes; I feel as lively as a cricket.”
“Then your walk has done you good?”
“A great deal of good,” answered Grant; but Tom did not detect the significance hidden in the reply. “How long have you been at home?”
“An hour.”
“Then you knocked off work earlier than usual.”
“Yes,” answered Tom soberly. “To tell the truth, Grant, I’m discouraged. How much do you think our day’s work amounts to?”
“Yours and mine?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“A dollar and seventy-five cents! I think, Grant, we had better inquire the location of the nearest poor house. We may want to ask admission.”
“There’s an old saying, Tom: ‘The darkest hour is just before the day.’”
“How does that apply here?”
“I will tell you. I have secured a claim from which ten thousand dollars was obtained within six months.”
“And then it petered out?”
“No; the owner stopped working it because he had money enough, and was satisfied.”
“Hasn’t it been worked since?”
“No.”
“How much did you agree to pay for it?” asked Tom, in excitement.
“Nothing. It was given me for a service I rendered the owner.”
“This seems like a fairy tale, Grant. What does it mean?”
“I will tell you;” and Grant related his afternoon’s adventure.
“Hurrah! we’re in luck!” exclaimed Tom, rising to his feet and swinging his hat in excitement. “If what you say is true, we’re made men.”
“I am glad you look upon me as a man,” said Grant, smiling.
“I’m only anticipating a little. I hope,” he added anxiously, “the old man won’t reconsider the matter.”
“Not much chance of it. I haven’t known him long, but I am quite sure that he isn’t that kind of a man.”
CHAPTER XXVI
NAHUM STOCKTON
“What shall we do with our old claims?” Before Grant could answer that question a step was heard, and looking up, the two friends saw approaching a tall, gaunt man of thirty-five – a typical Yankee – whose shabby attire indicated that he was “down on his luck.”
“Good-evenin’, friends,” he said.
“Good-evening,” responded Tom cordially. “Sit down with us, won’t you? I’ve got an extra pipe, if you would like a smoke.”
“Thank you; I’m just pinin’ for a smoke. Is this your tenement?”
“Well, we found it vacant, and squatted here. The owner hasn’t called on us for any rent yet.”
“You’re in luck.”
“Have you just arrived?”
“Yes, I have. I’m a rollin’ stone, and I haven’t gathered any moss.”
“There’s a good many in that fix.”
“Do you see that coin?” and the stranger took from his pocket a silver quarter and flipped it up in the air.
“Yes. Is there anything strange about it?”
“Well, there’s this – it’s the last and only piece of property now belonging to Nahum Stockton. If you are acquainted with the tax-collector, don’t mention it, for I wouldn’t like to be assessed on it.”
“I will respect your wishes, Mr. Stockton,” said Tom, laughing. “May I ask what are your plans?”
“If I can buy a claim for a quarter, I will settle down here and dig for gold.”
Tom looked at Grant, and Grant nodded, for he read his friend’s thought.
“Having so much money,” said Tom soberly, “you’d better buy a couple of claims.”
“That’s a good joke,” returned Stockton, with a grim smile.
“No joke at all! My friend and I own a couple of claims, and we leave Howe’s Gulch to-morrow. We will make them over to you without money and without price. As to a cradle, you can buy one on instalments.”
“Do you mean it?” asked Stockton eagerly.
“Yes; but I don’t want to deceive you in the matter. They haven’t been paying very well lately, and Grant and I are going elsewhere to prospect.”
“If they are paying anything, I’ll accept them with pleasure.”
“They are paying something, and of course there’s a possibility of striking it rich in either one of them.”
“Gentlemen,” said Stockton earnestly, “you don’t know what you’ve done for me. I was at the end of my resources, and felt kind o’ reckless. You’ve made a new man of me.”
“We are glad to do you a service. Grant, can’t you get us some supper? After eating, we’ll go and show Mr. Stockton the claims, for we shall want to make an early start to-morrow morning. Mr. Stockton, our supper will be a plain one, but we shall be glad to have you join us in eating it.”
“You can’t be gladder than I am,” said Nahum quaintly. “I haven’t had anything to eat since mornin’, and then it was only a slice of bread and a glass of milk and water with the milk left out.”
Grant was in the cabin, making ready the evening meal. There was bread and butter, some cold meat, and cup of tea for each. Mr. Stockton ate as if he enjoyed every mouthful.
“You don’t ask me how I lost my money,” he said.
“You lost it, then; you didn’t spend it?”
“No; if I had got the worth of it I wouldn’t have cared so much, but to be cheated out of it by a mean scoundrel was a little too much.”
“Were you cheated out of it?”
“Yes. I’ll tell you how. Coming from ’Frisco I struck Frost’s Bar with a hundred dollars in my pocket. A hundred dollars! Sometimes I wonder if there is so much money in the world, now that I am dead broke! Well, I had been meaning to buy a claim, and was walkin’ ’round when I met a sleek appearin’ man, who looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He asked me what my plans were, and I told him I wanted to buy a claim. ‘You’re the very man I’m lookin’ after,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a rich claim here, but my health has given way, and I haven’t strength to work it. I’m willin’ to sell for half price.’
“Well, I looked at the claim, and I liked the appearance of it. The artful rascal found out how much money I had, and asked me a hundred dollars for the claim. ‘But,’ said I, ‘that won’t leave me anything to work it with.’ ‘I like you, Mr. Stockton,’ he said, as he grabbed my hand, and the tears came into his eyes. ‘I feel like bein’ a true friend to you. I’ll let you have it for ninety dollars, and that ain’t half what it’s worth.’
“Well, to make a long story short, I paid over the ninety dollars, and he wrote out a paper making over the claim to me. Then he shook hands with me and went away. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Wasn’t the claim a good one?” asked Grant.
“Yes, the best at the Bar.”
“Then I don’t see what you have to complain of.”
“I’ll tell you. The next mornin’ I went ‘round to take possession of my claim, when I saw a stout, good-looking man workin’ it. ‘Hold on, my friend,’ I said, ‘what are you doin’ with my claim?’
“‘Your claim!’ repeated Charles Ambrose, for that was his name. ‘What are you talkin’ about?’
“‘I reckon I speak plain enough,’ said I, provoked. ‘I bought that claim last night, and I mean to hold it.’
“‘Oh, you bought it?’ said Ambrose. ‘Of whom did you buy it?’
“On that I produced the paper.
“‘Here’s the document,’ I said. ‘It is signed by Dionysius Silverthorn.’”
“What!” ejaculated Tom and Grant jointly.
“Do you know the man?” asked Stockton.
“I think we do,” answered Tom Cooper. “He’s a tall, thin fellow, with a lamb-like expression, but he’s an experienced swindler.”
“You’ve about hit it. Did he swindle you?”
“No, but he tried to. Well, how did you come out?”
“At the little end of the horn. Silverthorn was off with my money, and I had nothing to show for it. I’d just like to get hold of him. He wouldn’t look quite so much like an innocent lamb when I got through with him.”
“I left him at Sacramento,” said Grant.
“I’ll hunt him up when I get a little money,” went on Stockton. “I’ve met scoundrels before, but he’ll take the cake.”
“Or anything else he can lay hands on,” said Grant, with a laugh.
They walked over to the mining-camp, put Stockton into possession of the claims, and introduced him to a miner, who agreed to sell him a cradle on instalments.
“Now, Grant,” said Tom, “we’ll go to bed, for we may have a long walk before us to-morrow.”