CHAPTER X
FORWARD MARCH TO GREGORY GULCH
"What'll we do with all our gunny sacks?" queried Terry, when after anearly breakfast they drove across for Auraria, to deliver Duke and thecart and make their purchases.
"They don't weigh much, but they take up a lot of room. I have a scheme,though," answered Harry.
Early as they were, the emigrant camps on the plain, and Denver City andAuraria in the midst, were astir: smoke was welling from camp-fires andchimneys, shouts and calls arose as outfits prepared to journey onward,people were moving busily, and the procession beyond the Platte waswending in a long file mountain-ward.
Already another announcement was displayed on Mr. Reilly's show tent."Also (it said) the Only Genuine Wild Buffalo Now in Captivity, and theIdentical Wagon That He Drew Across the Plains."
Mr. Reilly was working on the first announcement, to make it read, "TheBullet-Pierced Head of the Ferocious Chief Bloody Knife," and to changethe frontiersman's name from "Black Panther" to "Dead-Shot Bill."
"It's a pity one of you fellers won't hire out to be my scout," heproffered. "'Tother one might take in the tickets at the door. I got theshirt and weepon back from that man Ike, but he won't work again.Anyhow, you can unhitch and help me get that buffalo inside this tent,out of sight. We'll tie him to a stake, and roll the wagon inafterward."
This was done, after the flaps had been thrown wide. Duke limped inrather gladly, was stationed at the far end beside the head of the lateThunder Horse, and the wagon, unloaded of its few goods, was pushed andpulled to another position.
"You might stay with Jenny and the stuff, while I do our marketing,"proposed Harry to Terry, as he shouldered the big roll of gunny sacks,for some mysterious purpose, and lugged it away.
He disappeared in the doorway of the store under the _News_ office.Jenny hee-hawed after him. She missed him and Duke.
Harry soon returned jubilant, without the sacks.
"All right. We're fixed," he proclaimed. "I traded them in for a sack ofdried apples. The man didn't appreciate their value, at first, but Iexplained. Value No. 1: Most of the cabins hereabouts have only dirtfloors; the sacking will be fine for carpets to keep the dust down.Value No. 2: It will be handy for covering windows, to keep out thewind. Value No. 3: It will be useful to patch pants with, instead ofbuckskin. Value No. 4: It will lengthen pants--in fact, the pants ofthat _Rocky Mountain News_ peddler gave me the idea. Value No. 5: Itwill make good ticking for straw mattresses. To tell the truth, it isso valuable that I wouldn't part with any of it except for dried apples.Now we can have pie!"
They bestowed on Duke and the cart a friendly good-luck slap, shookhands with Mr. Reilly, and proceeded to the store with Jenny. Thepurchases amounted to considerable. First, a pack-saddle, not brand new,but of ash and rawhide in excellent condition; a sack of flour, the sackof dried apples, a quarter of antelope meat--the only cheap meat, atfour cents a pound; five pounds of coffee (very dear), soda, salt,sugar, soap, a square of rawhide for soling their boots, two miner'spans for washing out the gold, etc., etc.
These, with the picks and spades, and the bedding, and the cooking andeating utensils made quite a problem. No wonder that Jenny groaned whenthe saddle was cinched upon her.
However, with her pack bulging on either side and atop, the toolsprojecting and the cooking utensils jingling, she accepted her fate, andstepping in cautious, top-heavy fashion submitted to being headed out oftown into the trail for the Platte River crossing.
Terry, the shot-gun upon his shoulder, and Harry, shouldering a pick andspade that had not fitted anywhere, followed close after. So did Shep,who carried nothing but his shaggy coat. On the whole, no one could denythat this was a real prospecting outfit.
"Forty miles, they say, to those Gregory diggin's," remarked Harry."Wonder if they mean forty or four hundred? You see that flat-topmountain--the first mountain in the northwest? How far do you think itis?"
"Five miles," asserted Terry.
"Well, it's _eighteen_ miles! They call it Table Mountain. That's wherewe go in. So when a fellow's looking five miles, in this country, he'slooking eighteen, and that makes forty miles about one hundred andfifty."
The trail was becoming crowded as other outfits converged from the rightand left for the Platte crossing. It was a procession much like theprocession on the Pike's Peak trails--oxen, horses, mules, cows, dogs,wagons; and men, women and children either afoot or riding. But therewere more men with packs on their backs and more animals packed likeJenny.
The long-legged Jenny, her pack swaying and jingling, could be urgedpast the slower travelers--and well that was, for ere the Platte wasreached, the wagons in the procession had stopped. They formed a waitingline several hundred yards in length. Forging to the front, Terry andHarry might see the occasion. The Platte evidently was to be crossed bymeans of a flat-boat ferry, running back and forth on a cable. So thewagons need must bide their turn.
Harry went forward to investigate. He came back with a rueful face.
"Two dollars and a half for a wagon outfit; a dollar and a half for ouroutfit," he reported. "The ferry's run by a couple of Indian tradersnamed McGaa and Smith. Wonder if we can't ford."
"Nary ford, this time o' year, strangers," reproved a red-shirtedminer. "See those wagons; they'll be out o' sight by noon! Quicksand!"
Several wagons foolishly had tried to ford; and there they were,abandoned, some of them even only a few rods out. Already just the topsof two were visible above the surface.
"Guess we won't risk it," agreed Terry.
So they paid their fee, and squeezing in aboard the ferry, were carriedacross.
The trail continued, entering amidst low rolling swells of sandy graveland sparse, tufty grass and stiff brush, between which and over and ontoiled the pilgrimage for the new diggin's where one John Gregory andothers were harvesting their pound of gold a day. The Gregory claim wassaid to be so marvelously rich and yellow that no strangers had beenpermitted to see it.
From the high places glimpses were given, on the right, of a creekcourse below, bordered by willows and cottonwoods. This was that ClearCreek on whose headwaters in the mountains the Gregory strike had beenmade. But the landmark of Table Mountain drew near so gradually, inspite of the haste by everybody, that not until evening did it loomclose at hand, shadowed with purple and rising a wall-like six hundredfeet.
Here the trail ran along Clear Creek itself, and the procession washalting for night camp, to water and graze the animals and to rest. Onboth sides of the creek prospectors had settled, to wash out gold; butnow the most of them had quit work and in front of their tents andbough lean-tos were preparing supper.
"Better stop off, boys," warned a hairy miner, who, squatting over alittle fire, was deftly cooking flap-jacks--tossing them one by one froma fry-pan into the air and catching them other side down. "You can't gomuch farther till mornin'. There's a trail ahead so steep your mule'llhave to turn over an' prop herself with her ears to keep from slidin'backwards."
"Sounds like good advice," accepted Harry. "You going on in, or are youmaking your pile here?"
"Makin' a pile o' flap-jacks, if those hungry partners don't eat 'emfaster'n I can cook. Yep, we're goin' on somewhere, if this creekdoesn't pan out better. We've been followin' the gold all the way fromPike's Peak an' the Boilin' Springs, an' the best diggin's alluz seemforty miles ahead."
"Where are the Boiling Springs?" asked Terry. "Do they boil?"
"Haven't you heard o' them yet? They're down at the foot o'Pike's--tremenjous good water, sody an' iron both an' a lot o' otherminerals, I reckon; bubblin' an' poppin', an' liable to cure anything.Sacred to the Injun, they were, but they're powerful good for whiteman."
Jenny, her pack removed, took a hearty roll, and a shake, and a longcold drink, and fell to browsing. Terry built a fire and prepared camp;Harry got out their own fry-pan and the coffee pot, and while the waterin the pot was coming to a boil he proceeded to mix batter.
"What'l
l it be?" queried Terry, hungry.
"Flap-jacks."
"I didn't know you could make them."
"I didn't, either, to date. But I can."
The first flap-jack stuck confoundingly, and would not turn at allexcept by pieces. So it burned, and they gave it to Shep. The nextsailed free and high, and landed, dough side down, in Terry's lap. Terrystarted to laugh, but changed his tune and frantically tore the hotdough loose, then executed a war-dance while he sucked his fingers.
"Too much flap," commented Harry. "Once again."
This flap-jack flew straight for his face and he ducked only just intime to prevent being plastered.
"Everything goes to Shep," he complained. "I can make 'em, all right,but I haven't the knack of turning 'em."
"You can shout there's a knack, Mister," agreed the other flap-jackperformer, who now had stepped over to watch. "You'll not be a trueminer till you can toss a flap-jack up the cabin chimbley an' ketch itagain outside, turned over. Where you boys from?"
"Blue River Valley, Kansas. We were the Pike's Peak Limited; now we'rethe Extra Limited," explained Harry.
"The Russell brothers are somewhar in this hyar procession, aren'tthey?"
"Are they? All of them?"
"So I heard tell. They left Aurary today, for the new diggin's."
"Are the Gregory diggin's full of gold?" eagerly invited Terry.
"Mebbe so, for people who know how to find it. Trouble is, thiscountry's fuller of people who don't know how to find it."
He went back to his own fire. Harry turned the rest of the flap-jackswith a knife, and they were very good. He really had become an excellentcamp cook.
"Jiminy! Wish we could see Sol Judy at the diggin's," voiced Terry. "Heknows all about gold. He was in California."
"Yes, Sol knows gold, and I have an idea we don't," answered Harry, withsober reflection.
"I suppose when we see something yellow we'll save it," hazarded Terry,more hopefully.
Forward, march, with morning light, to Gregory Gulch! Clear Creek had tobe forded; and while, soaked to the knees, they trudged on behind theshambling Jenny, and Terry was wondering how they were to climb TableMountain, the trail left the creek, veered to the right, and traversed adeep narrow gulch whose rocky bottom, scored by wagon-tires, made roughgoing.
"Great Caesar's ghost!" uttered Harry, as they rounded a shoulder.
High above them, before, was a portion of the procession: wagons,animals, and people, far aloft, zig-zagging up a mountainside by anothertrail (or was it the same trail?), clinging for footholds and every nowand then pausing as if to breathe.
Several of the wagons were drawn by eight and ten yoke of oxen; severalof the wagons with one and two yoke were apparently stuck fast; teamsand people alike--particularly the pack animals and the people carryingpacks--seemed to be having all they could do to advance yard by yard.Wagons also were descending, and raising immense clouds of dust.
"Do we go up there?" protested Terry.
"I guess," decided Harry, "that's where Jenny props herself with herears."
Yes, the start of the climb was only a short distance ahead. The canyonalmost closed, and at a sharp angle the trail zigzagged right up thesteep flank of the mountain--not Table Mountain, but another, higher.
Jenny pricked forward her long ears, in inquiring fashion, and halted ofher own accord to survey. Here at the base of the mountain other outfitslikewise had halted: wagons unloading, or waiting for teams to returnand help them up; pack animals having their packs readjusted; foottravelers sitting and resting while gazing upward.
The wagons descending were dragging behind them huge boughs, as brakes.These boughs raised the dust. From the zigzag the grinding of irontires, the popping of whips and the shouting of drivers echoedincessantly.
Along the line in the canyon welled a cheer; and accompanying it thereforged past, for the climb, a large party who must have numbered onehundred and fifty, mostly men. They were well equipped with horses,oxen, wagons and pack mules. Two men rode confidently in the lead. Onewas Captain William Green Russell; the other looked a little like him,but had whiskers that flowed down upon his chest. A third man, wholooked a little like both, but whose whiskers flowed clear to hissaddle-horn, brought up the rear.
"The Russells!"
"Those are the Russell brothers and their party!"
The man who rode beside Captain Green Russell was said to be Dr. Levi J.Russell. The long-whiskered man at the rear was the other brother, J.Oliver Russell.
On and up toiled the Russell company, bound for the Gregory diggin's;and encouraged by the sight, the halted procession bestirred to follow.
"Jenny," appealed Harry, "are you good for it, if Terry and I shove?"
The Pike's Peak Rush; Or, Terry in the New Gold Fields Page 12