The Cave of Gold

E >> Everett McNeil >> The Cave of Gold

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"And we calculate," continued Frank Holt, "that the best way to try and
give them the slip will be to go into camp early to-night; and then
about midnight to suddenly and quietly break camp and steal away under
cover of the darkness, hoping to get away without their knowing it."

"I reckon they're tew cute tew be fooled that easy," and Ham shook his
head.

"And so do we," grinned back Holt. "But we calculate that it will make
them think that we think that we have fooled them, and so they won't
consider it necessary to keep so close watch on us, and we can try to
make our real getaway the next night or the night after."

"That sounds more like it," and Ham grinned his approval. "Wal, since we
all 'pear tew be through eatin', let's git a-goin'," and he jumped up
from the table and hurried out doors, nearly stumbling over a thin,
sallow-faced, middle-aged Mexican, who stood near the door apparently
waiting for someone to come out.

"Hello, Pedro! What you doin' here?" and Ham scowled down on the little
Mexican, whom he had often seen working about Coleman's store. "Coleman
send you for something?"

"No, senor," answered the Mexican. "Coleman kick me this morning; and
now I no longer work for Coleman. I now would cook and keep camp for
senors," and he bowed, with a flourish of both his thin arms. "Get wood,
make fire, cook, carry water, clean dish, all I do for senors. I very
good cook. Coleman say I make best flapjacks in Hangtown. All I do for
senors for one ounce gold-dust a week. Si, senors?" and his bright black
eyes flashed questioningly around the circle of faces that, by this
time, had gathered around him.

"But, see, our hosses are packed. We're 'bout tew break camp," and Ham
pointed to the horses.

"Si, senor," answered Pedro, smiling. "I know how pack horse, so pack no
slip under belly. I go where senors go. I do good work, kind, faithful,
honest," and again he smiled, until his teeth showed like two rows of
yellow ivory in his mouth.

"Now," and Ham turned questioningly to the others. "I wonder if
'twouldn't be a good thing tew take Pedro 'long? He could help a lot
'bout hoss-packin' an' cookin' an' things, an' could dew all th' dirty
heavy work for th' Leetle Woman."

"Reckon you're right, Ham," declared Mr. Conroyal. "Shall we take the
Mexican on his own terms?" and he glanced inquiringly around.

"Yes, and a good bargain I call it," assented Mr. Randolph. "Pedro
couldn't have staid as long as he did with Coleman, if he hadn't been a
pretty decent sort of a Mexican; and he can help a lot about camp."

And thus it came about that Pedro, the Mexican, entered the service of
our friends, without a thought of suspicion that he might be other than
what he seemed coming into the head of one of them. If they had not seen
him so often working about Coleman's store and felt sure that he was
only an ignorant Mexican menial, they probably would have been a little
more cautious about taking him with them on such a venture as they were
about to undertake.

Mrs. Dickson was given one of the horses to ride, although she protested
that she was just as able to walk as anybody; but the other five horses
were all loaded with the packs containing the supplies for the journey
and the mining tools, the men, of course, all walking. The five
pack-horses were placed in charge of Pedro and brought up the rear of
the little column of men that now marched slowly over the hill that
flanked Hangtown and off toward the unknown wilderness of mountains and
forests to the northeast, Ham and Dickson and Mr. Conroyal in the lead.

For the first two or three days' march, or until they had passed beyond
the region where the miners were at work, their way would be plain. They
had only to follow the trail of the miners to Humbug Canyon, the last
known place marked down on the skin map. But from Humbug Canyon on there
would be no trail to follow and they would be obliged to trust to the
guidance of Mr. Dickson and the skin map to bring them into Lot's
Canyon. After that they would have to depend entirely on the map and
their own skill to discover the hidden opening into Crooked Arm Gulch.

Naturally Thure and Bud were in high spirits, now that they were
actually on their way to the marvelous Cave of Gold; and, boylike, they
allowed no thoughts of the threatening perils from Ugger and Quinley and
their band of cut-throats to trouble their minds or to distract their
attention from the wonderful scenes constantly unfolding before them, as
they advanced along the trail leading to Humbug Canyon, where something
interesting or beautiful or both met their eyes each moment, no matter
in what direction they looked. Now it was some wonderful formation of
nature--great masses of rocks towering thousands of feet above their
heads, picturesque little mountain-surrounded valleys, deep canyons and
gulches and ravines and chasms, beautiful cascades of water plunging
over precipitous cliffs to fall in a stream of sparkling jewels on the
rocks at their base, or great forests of columnlike trees, or winding,
murmuring, plunging, seething, turbulent little streams of water rushing
furiously toward some far-off valley, and like marvels and beauties of
nature. Again, in entering some little valley or ravine, they would come
suddenly upon a picturesque little company of miners hard at work with
picks and shovels and pans and cradles, searching for the elusive yellow
grains of gold. Indeed, during that first afternoon, they found the
miners everywhere, in the valleys, in the gulches and the ravines, along
the streams, wherever there seemed the least prospect of finding gold,
there these wild knights of the pick and the shovel were sure to be
found; and, as they passed, the latest mining news would be shouted back
and forth, enlivened with rude sallies of wit and merry well-wishes.

Sometimes they would pause for a few minutes to talk with the miners and
to watch them at their work; and, on one of these occasions, Thure and
Bud saw, for the first time, a couple of miners at work with a cradle,
as this queer machine used to separate the gold from the dirt is called.

"I don't wonder it is called a cradle," Thure exclaimed, the moment he
caught sight of the odd-looking contrivance. "Why, if it wasn't for that
hopper on the upper end and the man shoveling dirt and pouring water
into it, one would surely think that fellow was rocking his baby to
sleep in its cradle. Can't we wait here a little while and watch them
work it?" and Thure turned to his father. "The horses need a rest
anyway."

"Going to clean up soon?" Mr. Conroyal called to the men.

"In about ten minutes," answered the shoveler. "And, I reckon, we can
show some gold when we do. Won't you wait and see how it pans out?" he
invited cordially.

"Oh, do, please!" cried both the boys.

"All right," assented Mr. Conroyal. "A rest won't hurt the horses, and I
am sure the clean up will interest you boys."

"Bully! Come on. Let's get closer," and Thure started on the run for the
spot where the two men were working.

The men had placed the cradle within a few feet of where they were
digging up the pay-dirt, and near the cradle they had dug a small
reservoir, which was kept constantly filled with water by means of a
small trench dug from the little mountain stream a dozen rods away, so
that they had both the water and the dirt handy, two very necessary
things to make cradling successful, unless the pay-dirt is very rich.
The machine itself, as Thure said, looked very much like a rudely made,
baby's cradle. The body was about the same size and shape as the
ordinary homemade box cradle seen in the homes of thousands in those
days and underneath it were two similar rockers, but here the
resemblance ended. One end of the cradle-box was a little higher than
the other end, which was left open, so that the water loaded with the
waste dirt could run out; and on the upper end stood a hopper, or
riddle-box, as it was frequently called, about twenty inches square,
with sides four inches high and a bottom made of sheet-iron, pierced
with holes half an inch in diameter. Directly under the hopper, which
was not nailed to the cradle-box, was an apron of wood, fastened to the
sides of the cradle-box and sloping down from the lower end of the
hopper to the upper end of the cradle-box. Two strips of wood, about an
inch square, called riffle-bars, were nailed across the bottom of the
cradle-box, one at the middle and the other near the lower end. An
upright piece of wood, nailed to one side of the cradle-box, furnished a
convenient handle for the man who did the rocking. Such, briefly
described, was the make of the curious machine that had so aroused the
interest of Thure and Bud.

"Ever see a cradle work before?" asked the man who was shoveling the
dirt and pouring the water into the hopper, as Thure and Bud came
running up, their eyes shining with interest.

"No," answered Thure. "It sure is a funny looking machine."

"It sure is," agreed the man. "But a fellow can clean two or three times
as much dirt with it as he can with a pan and do it better. This is the
philosophy of it," and he shoveled the pay-dirt into the hopper until it
was a little over half filled, and then, picking up a long-handled
dipper, began dipping water out of the reservoir and pouring it on the
dirt in the hopper, while the other man constantly kept the cradle
rocking back and forth. "You see," continued the man, "the motion and
the water loosens and softens the dirt until all of it, except the
larger stones, falls through the holes in the bottom of the hopper and
runs down the apron to the upper end of the cradle and then down the
bottom of the cradle and over the riffle-bars and out the lower end,
leaving the gold and the heavier particles of sand and gravel behind the
riffle-bars. But a fellow has to keep the cradle in constant motion, or
the sand will pack and harden behind the riffle-bars and allow the gold
to slide over it, instead of sinking down through it, as gold always
will when sand or gravel is loose or in motion," as he spoke, he thrust
his hand into the hopper and picked out a couple of stones too large to
pass through the holes in the bottom of the hopper, and, after closely
examining them to see that there was no gold clinging to their sides,
threw them away.

"But, how do you get the gold out of the cradle?" queried Bud. "It seems
to be mixed all up with a lot of heavy sand and gravel behind the
riffle-bars."

"We will show you, just as soon as we wash out this hopper full of
dirt," replied the man. "Ay, Hank?" and he turned to his companion, the
rocker.

"I reckon it is about time to make a clean up, Dave," assented Hank,
shifting the other hand to the cradle handle. "Anyhow both my arms are
about plumb tired out."

After about ten minutes of this vigorous rocking all the dirt had been
dissolved and nothing remained in the hopper except a number of stones,
too large to fall through the holes in its bottom, which had been washed
clean by the water and the shaking they had received.

"There, I calculate that will do the business," and the man addressed as
Dave, dropped the dipper, with which he had been pouring the water into
the hopper, while Hank stopped rocking the cradle and, rising to his
feet, stretched up both arms over his head with a sigh of relief.

"Say, but this gold-digging is darned hard work," and he grinned down at
the two boys.

"A darned sight harder than measuring cloth behind a counter," laughed
Dave, as he lifted the hopper off the cradle and with a quick jerk threw
the stones out of it and laid it down on the ground. "But a fellow gets
something for his hard work--that is, he does if he is lucky," he added,
as he picked up a large iron spoon from the ground near the cradle. "Now
we'll see how the gold pans out," and bending over the cradle he began
digging out the gravel and sand behind the riffle-bars with the spoon
and throwing it into a gold-pan, which Hank held.

By this time all the company, except Pedro, who had been left in charge
of the pack-horses, had gathered around the two men and were watching
the cleaning up process with the greatest interest.

"'Bout how much dew you expect she'll pan out?" queried Ham, as Dave
scraped out the last spoonful of sand and gravel and threw it into the
pan.

"Somewhere between three and four ounces," answered Dave. "At least that
is about what we usually clean out. How does she feel, Hank?" and he
turned to his partner, who was running his fingers speculatively through
the wet sand in the pan.

"I'll bet you an ounce of dust that there is a good five ounces of gold
in this pan right now," declared the man, his eyes shining.

Before replying Dave took the pan and ran his fingers a few times
through the sand.

"I'll go you. Wash her out," and he handed the pan back to Hank.

Hank now took the pan to the little stream of water, where the swift
current would help in separating the gold from the sand; and in a few
minutes his skilful hands had succeeded in washing out of the pan all
the sand and gravel, except a thin layer of black sand, that was too
heavy to wash out without danger of washing out the gold with it, which
now could be seen sparkling here and there in the sand.

"Want to back out?" and Hank held the pan up in triumph in front of
Dave's face.

"Sure not. There is not over four ounces there," answered Dave, after a
moment's close examination of the sand. "Get out your magnet."

Hank now thrust one of his hands into his pocket and pulled out a large
horseshoe magnet, the ends of which he at once began passing over the
black sand in the bottom of the pan; and, since the black sand was
nearly all iron, the magnet force caused it to cling to the horseshoe
and in this ingenious manner the remaining sand was quickly drawn from
the pan, leaving a thin, a very thin layer of gold-dust lying on its
bottom.

Dave now produced a small balance from one of his pockets and the
gold-dust was quickly gathered up and weighed.

"I win! Five ounces and a half!" shouted Hank triumphantly, at the same
time giving Dave a resounding whack on his back with the flat of his
hand. "That's the best clean up we've had since we started digging here.
I reckon you boys brought us good luck," and he grinned joyously into
the faces of Thure and Bud.

"Five an' a half ounces! That's a mighty good clean up," declared Ham,
critically eyeing the little pile of gold-dust on the scale. "How often
dew you clean up a day?"

"Usually about four times," answered one of the men. "But sometimes,
when the shoveling is good, we get in another clean up or two by working
a little late."

"Wal, tew hundred an' fifty or three hundred dollars' worth of gold a
day is shore dewin' pretty well for tew men; an' I hopes y'ur good luck
continues."

"No more measuring cloth behind a counter for me, if it does," laughed
Dave. "You see Hank and I were both clerks in a drygoods store back
East; but we will both be proprietors when we get back, if our good luck
holds out only a few months longer," and the look on the faces of the
two men told how much they were counting on that proprietorship.

"I am sure your good luck will continue," smiled Mr. Conroyal
encouragingly. "But now we must be on our way," and he led the way back
to where Pedro was waiting with the horses.

That night our friends made their camp in a little grove of trees that
grew on the bank of a streamlet flowing through a small mountain valley,
where there was an abundance of water, wood, and grass.

Pedro proved himself so great a success at unpacking the horses and
attending to the rougher camp duties that all felt like congratulating
themselves on having secured his service. He was willing and cleanly,
two rather rare qualities in the Mexican camp menial, who was usually
sullen in disposition and dirty in person and habits. He also proved to
the satisfaction of all that his flapjacks deserved all the praises that
Coleman had given them.

"He's a jewel," declared Mrs. Dickson enthusiastically. "And, if it
wasn't for something snaky and creepy-crawly looking in his eyes, I had
rather have his help than that of most women's. But I guess that queer
look and the way he has of watching all of us comes from his being
Mexican. Now," and she lowered her voice, "are you still planning to
break camp sometime during the night and try to fool Ugger and his men,
if they are trying to keep watch of us?"

"Yes," replied Mr. Conroyal. "The moon will be up about midnight; and, I
reckon, that will be about the best time for us to try to make our
getaway. So the sooner we all get to sleep the more rest we will get.
Now, how about the guard?" and he turned inquiringly to the circle of
men who had gathered around the camp-fire for a quiet little talk, after
the supper had been eaten and all the camp duties had been attended to.
"Do you think it necessary for us to post guards over the camp nights?"

"Sart'in," declared Ham. "Them skunks would be shore tew be up tew some
devilment, like stealin' our hosses or something if we didn't; an' I
don't calculate on lettin' 'em git th' start on us, if watchin' will
prevent it. I'm for havin' a guard every night, until we git safe back
tew civilerzation ag'in. Them's uncommon cunnin' scoundrels what's on
our trail, an' we don't want tew take no chances with them."

"That's exactly the way I feel about it," agreed Mr. Conroyal. "Twould
be foolish to run any needless chances. Rex, you will stand guard for
the first two hours. Then you can awaken Dill, who will keep guard until
it is time to arouse the camp, which will be just as soon as the moon
rises, somewhere around midnight. Now everybody but Rex get into their
blankets."

A small tent had been secured for the use of Mrs. Dickson, into which
she now retired; but the men found "soft" spots of ground near the
camp-fire, spread out their blankets on them, and, rolling themselves up
in the blankets, lay down to as sound a sleep as ever blessed a man in
the most comfortable of beds.

A little after midnight, just as the white disk of the moon rose above
the tops of the mountains to the east, Dill quietly awoke his father;
and then the two quietly, and cautioning all to make as little noise as
possible, awoke the others.

Pedro, who had lain down near the horses, was at first inclined to be
surly, when aroused from a sound sleep and told to pack the horses as
quickly and as quietly as possible; but in a few minutes all his
surliness had vanished and he was doing the work with a swift and
skilful dexterity that showed long practice.

In half an hour the horses were packed and everything was ready to
start.

"Now," and Mr. Conroyal lowered his voice almost to a whisper, "there
must be no talking and everyone must move quietly, so as to make as
little noise as possible, until we have put a couple of miles between us
and the camp. I'll go on ahead and the others can follow in single file.
Rex, you and Dill and Thure and Bud help Pedro with the horses. You had
better lead them for awhile. We will leave the camp-fire burning.
Everybody ready?"

"Yes"--"Yes," came in whispers.

"All right. Come on," and Mr. Conroyal, walking carefully so as to make
as little noise as possible, moved off down the trail that showed
faintly in the moonlight.

In the excitement of the moment no one saw Pedro bend quickly down to
the ground, just before starting, and swiftly slip a piece of paper on
which was written the two words, "Humbug Canyon," under a stone that lay
near the camp-fire, and then, with a cunning gleam in his snaky black
eyes straighten up and give all his attention to the horse he was to
lead.

All now fell into line and followed close behind Mr. Conroyal, Thure and
Bud and Rex and Dill and Pedro each leading one of the pack-horses.

For a mile the trail was over the soft grass-covered sod of the valley,
which muffled the sounds made by their moving feet, so that they might
have passed within half a dozen rods of a camp without a man in it
dreaming that a little company of men and horses were passing, unless he
chanced to see them. Then the trail again entered the defiles of the
mountains, where the going was rough and difficult and sometimes
dangerous, on account of their not being able to see clearly in the dim
light of the moon; but Mr. Conroyal kept pressing steadily and silently
onward, and as steadily and as silently all the others followed.

There was no talking, even after they had passed the danger zone. No one
seemed to care to talk. There was something in the mystery of the night
and the wilderness, in the white light of the moon falling on tree and
rock and mountain and valley, in the silence of the vast surrounding
forests and mighty piles of towering rocks that stilled the tongue.

For a couple of hours they journeyed steadily and silently on through
the moonlit wilderness; and then Mr. Conroyal came to a halt in a narrow
little valley.

"I reckon we've thrown the scoundrels off the trail by now, if we are
going to to-night," he said; "and so we might as well go into camp again
and rest up until sunrise; and as this looks like a good place we will
go into camp right there under those trees," and he pointed toward a
little grove of evergreen oaks that grew a few rods away.

All were tired and all were sleepy; and, consequently, all welcomed the
decision to go into camp, and acted on it so promptly that, in fifteen
minutes, all, except the guard, were rolled up in their blankets and
soon were sound asleep.

CHAPTER XXII

THE MYSTERY OF THE TENT

"I reckon we otter make Humbug Canyon afore dark tew-night," Ham
declared, as our friends, notwithstanding the break in their rest of the
night before, moved out of the little valley, where they had camped, as
soon as it became light enough to see the trail the next morning.

"Yes," assented Mr. Conroyal, "but we will have to keep going to do it.
Do you suppose we fooled Ugger and his gang and threw them off our trail
last night?" and he turned a little anxiously to Ham and Frank Holt, who
were walking by his side.

"If they didn't have no one on watch, I reckon we did," answered Ham;
"but it's more'n likely they're cunnin' enough tew be on th' lookout for
jest such tricks an' that they know right now where we be. They know it
wouldn't dew for them tew lose track of us in this here wilderness of
mountains, where 'twould be like tryin' tew find a needle in a haystack
tew try tew hit our trail ag'in, once it was lost; an' so, I reckon,
some on 'em has got an eye on us right now, an' that we'll have tew play
a shrewder trick than that tew fool 'em. But, maybe, 'twill work all
right as a sort of a blind, an' make them think that we think that we
have fooled them, an' so make 'em keerless, so that we can fool 'em th'
next time. What dew you think, Steeltrap?" Ham still frequently called
Frank Holt by his old name, Steeltrap Smith, a name that had been given
to him on account of his skill as a trapper, when his own name was
unknown even to himself, as the readers of this series of books will
remember.

"I think you are about right, Ham," replied Holt, "although I should not
be much surprised if we gave them the slip last night. I kept watch all
the time that we were on the move yesterday, but nary a sign of anybody
following our trail could I discover. They sure must have a cunning
trailer, or else they're not depending on keeping us in sight. Perhaps
they got more about the trail from the old miner than we think they did,
and are on the watch for us at some point ahead, which they know we must
pass."

"That's a shrewd guess, Frank," declared Mr. Conroyal. "Now," and his
face brightened, "why wouldn't it be a good plan for us not to pass
through Humbug Canyon at all; but to go around it and to try to hit the
trail again on the other side? If there is any place ahead where they
would be likely to be on the watch for us, it is at Humbug Canyon,
because that is the last place on the trail they could be sure of
without the map. The trouble will be to get around Humbug Canyon. Maybe
there is no trail that we can follow but the one running through the
canyon. Anybody here know anything about the region around Humbug
Canyon?" and, raising his voice, he stopped and looked inquiringly
around.

"Yes, a little," answered Dickson, quickly coming forward. "I spent
about two weeks last fall prospecting in the mountains around it. What
would you like to know?"

"Can we go to one side of Humbug Canyon and hit the trail to the Cave of
Gold again beyond?" inquired Conroyal eagerly. "If there has been
anybody stationed in Humbug Canyon to look out for us, we would like to
fool them by not passing through it at all."

"I think we might do it by working around through Owl Gulch about five
miles to the east of Humbug Canyon," Dickson answered thoughtfully: "but
it will be considerable out of our way and the trail won't be nigh as
good. I am not absolutely sure, but I think we could get through all
right that way and not go nigh Humbug Canyon."

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