CHAPTER X
THE LAUGHING WATER CLAIM
A man who lives by uncertainties has a singular habit of mind. He isever lured forward by hopes and dreams that overlap each other as hegoes. While the scheme in hand is proving hopeless, day by day, hegrasps at another, just ahead, and draws himself onward towards thegilded goal, forgetful of the trickery of all those other schemesbehind, that were equally bright in their day.
Van had relinquished all hold on the golden dream once dangled beforehim by the Monte Cristo mine, to lay strong hands on the promisevouchsafed by the "See Saw" claim which he had purchased. As he walkedaway from the assayer's shop he felt his hands absolutely empty. Forthe very first time in at least four years he had no blinding glitterbefore his vision to entice him to feverish endeavor. He was a dreamerwith no dreams, a miner without a mine.
He felt chagrined, humiliated. After all his time spent here in theworld's most prodigious laboratory of minerals, he had purchased asalted mine! A sharper man, that sad-faced, half-sick Selwyn Briggs,had actually trimmed him like this!
Salted! And he was broke. Well, what was the next thing to do? Hethought of the fine large bill of goods, engaged for himself andpartners to take to the "See Saw" claim. It made him smile. But hewould not rescind the order--for a while. His partners, with hisworldly goods, the Chinese cook and all the household, save Cayuse,would doubtless arrive by noon. He and they had to eat; they had tolive. Also they had to mine, for they knew nothing else by way ofoccupation. They must somehow get hold of some sort of claim, and goon with their round of hopes and toil. They had never been so utterlybereft--so outcast by the goddess of fortune--since they had throwntheir lots together.
He dreaded the thought of meeting various acquaintances here incamp--the friends to whom he had said he was going that day to the "SeeSaw" property, far over the Mahogany range, near the Indianreservation. He determined to go. Perhaps the shack and theshaft-house on the claim, with the windlass and tools included byBriggs in the bill of sale, might fetch a few odd dollars.
Slowly down the street he went to the hay-yard where his pony wasstabled. He met a water man, halting on his rounds at the front of aneat canvas dwelling. The man had three large barrels on a wagon, eachfull of muddy, brackish water. A long piece of hose was thrust intoone, its other end dangled out behind.
From the tent emerged a woman with her buckets. The water man placedthe hose-end to his mouth, applied a lusty suction, and the water camegushing forth. He filled both receptacles, collected the price, andthen drove on to the next.
Sardonically Van reflected that even the fine little stream of water onhis claim, in a land where water was so terribly scarce, was absolutelyworthless as an asset. It was over a mountain ridge of such tremendousheight that it might as well have been in the forests of Maine.
Despite the utter hopelessness of his present situation, his spiritswere not depressed. Gettysburg, he reflected, was a genius for bumpinginto queer old prospectors--relics of the days of forty-nine, stilleagerly pursuing their _ignis fatuous_ of gold--and from some suchdesert wanderer he would doubtless soon pick up a claim. There wasnothing like putting Gettysburg upon the scent.
Van wrote a note to his partners.
"Dear Fellow Mourners:
"Have just discovered a joke. I was salted on the 'See Saw' property.Our pipe dream is defunct. Have gone over to lay out remains. If youfind any oldtimers who have just discovered some lost bonanza, takethem into camp. Don't get drunk, get busy. Be back a little afternoon."
This he left with the hay-yard man where his partners would stop whenthey arrived. Mounted on Suvy, his outlaw of the day before, he rodefrom Goldite joyously. After all, what was the odds? He had been nobetter off than now at least a hundred times. At the worst he stillhad his partners and his horse, a breakfast aboard, and a mountainahead to climb.
Indeed, at the light of friendship in his broncho's eyes, as well as atthe pony's neigh of welcome, back there at the yard, he had felt aboundless pleasure in his veins. He patted the chestnut's neck, in hisrough, brusque way of companionship, and the horse fairly quivered withpleasure.
For nearly two hours the willing animal went zig-zagging up the rockyslopes. The day was warming; the sun was a naked disk of fire. It washard climbing. Van had chosen the shorter, steeper way across therange. From time to time, where the barren ascent was exceptionallysevere, he swung from the saddle and led the broncho on, to mountfurther up as before.
Thus they came in time to a zone of change, over one of the ridges, aregion where rocks and ugliness gave way to a growth of brush andstunted trees. These were the outposts, ragged, dwarfed, and warped,of a finer growth beyond.
Fifteen miles away, down between the hills, flowed a tortuous stream,by courtesy called a river. It sometimes rose in a turgid flood, butmore often it sank and delivered up its ghost to such an extent that aman could have held it in his hat. Nevertheless some greeneryflourished on its banks.
When Van at last could oversee the vast, unpeopled lands of the PiuteIndian reservation, near the boundary of which his salted claim hadbeen staked, he had only a mile or so to ride, and all the way downhill.
He came to the property by eleven o'clock of the morning. He lookedabout reflectively. The rough board cabin and the rougher shaft-housewere scarcely worth knocking down for lumber. There, on the big,barren dike, were several tunnels and prospects, in addition to theshaft, all "workings" that Briggs had opened up in his labors on theledge. They were mere yawning mockeries of mining, but at least hadserved a charlatan's requirements. A few tools lay about, abominablyneglected.
The location was rather attractive, on the whole. The clear stream ofwater had coaxed a few quaking aspens and alders into being, among thestunted evergreens. Grass lay greenly along the bank, a charmingrelief to the eye. The sandy soil was almost level in the narrow cove,which was snugly surrounded by hills, except at the lower extremity,where the brook tumbled down a wide ravine.
Van, on his horse, gazed over towards the Indian reservation idly. Howvain, in all likelihood, were the wonderful tales of gold ledges lyingwithin its prohibited borders. What a madness was brewing in the campsall around as the day for the reservation opening rapidly approached!How they would swarm across its hills and valleys--those gold-seekingmen! What a scramble it would be, and all for--what?
There were tales in plenty of men who had secretly prospected here onthis forbidden land, and marked down wonderful treasures. Van lookedat his salted possessions. What a chance for an orgie of salting thereservation claims would afford!
With his pony finally secured to a tree near at hand, the horsemanwalked slowly about. A gold pan lay rusting, half filled with rock anddirt, by a bench before the cabin. It was well worth cleaning andtaking away, together with some of the picks, drills, and hammers.
He carried it over to the brook. There he knelt and washed it out,only to find it far more rusted than it had at first appeared. Hescooped it full of the nearest gravel and scoured it roughly with hishands. Three times he repeated this process, washing it out in thecreek.
Ready to rise with it, cleaned at last, he caught up a shallow film ofwater, flirted it about with a rotary motion, to sluice out the lastbit of stubborn dross, then paused to stare in unbelief at a few brightparticles down at the edge, washed free of all the gravel.
Incredulous and not in the least excited, he drew a small glass fromhas pocket and held it on the specks. There could be no doubt of theirnature. They were gold.
Interested, but doubting the importance of his find, Van pawed up halfa pan full of gravel and dipped the receptacle full of water. Thenstirring the sand and stuff with his hand, he panned it carefully.
The result at the end was such a string of colors as he had neverwashed in all his wide experience. To make a superficial prospect ofthe claim he proceeded to pan from a dozen different places in thecove, and in every instance got an exceptional showing of co
arse,yellow gold, with which the gravel abounded.
He knelt motionless at last, beside the stream, singularly unperturbed,despite the importance of his find. Briggs had slipped up, absolutely,on the biggest thing in many miles around, by salting and selling aquartz claim here to a man with a modest sum of money.
The cove was a placer claim, rich as mud in gold, and with everythingneeded at hand.
Then and there the name of the property was changed from the "See Saw"to the "Laughing Water" claim.
The Furnace of Gold Page 10