Silver and Gold: A Story of Luck and Love in a Western Mining Camp

by Dane Coolidge

  CHAPTER II

  BIG BOY

  He was a big, fair-haired boy, blue-eyed and clean limbed, and as hecame down the trail there was a spring to his step that not even a limpcould obliterate; and at every stride the great muscles in his chestplayed and rippled beneath his shirt. He was a fine figure of a man,tall and straight as an Apollo, and yet he was a hobo. Never before hadBunker Hill seen a better built man or one more open-faced and frank,but he came down the trail with the familiar hobo-limp and Bunker sethis jaws and waited. It was such men as this, young and strong and fullof blood, who had kept him poor for years. Hobo miners, the most expertof their craft, and begging their grub on the trail!

  "Good morning," nodded Hill and squinted down his eyes as the young manboggled at his words.

  "Good morning," replied the hobo and then, after a pause, hestraightened up and came to the point. "What's the chance to get alittle something to eat?" he inquired with a twisted smile and BunkerHill sprang his bomb.

  "Danged poor," he returned, and as the hobo blinked he spoke his piecewith a rush. "I've got a store over there where you can buy what youwant; but I've quit, absolutely, feeding every hobo that comes by andbatters my door for grub. I'm an old man myself and you're young andstrong--why the hell don't you get out and work?"

  "Never you mind," answered the hobo, his eyes glowing angrily; and asOld Bunk went on with his tirade the miner's lip curled with scorn."That's all right, old-timer," he broke in with cold politeness--"nooffense--don't let me deprive you. I don't make a practice of batteringon back doors. But, say, I'm looking for a fellow with a big, blackmustache--did you see him come by this way?"

  "Did I _see_ him?" yelled Hill flying into a fury, "well you'redanged whistling I did! He came in last night and bummed his supper--mywife had to cook it special--and I gave him his bed and breakfast; andthis morning when he left he didn't even say: 'Thanks!' That's howgrateful these hoboes are! And when I went out to pick up his blankets athumping big purse dropped out!"

  "Holy Joe!" exclaimed the hobo looking up with sudden interest, "say,how long ago did he leave?"

  "Not half an hour! No, not ten minutes ago--and if my wife hadn't beenthere to hold me down I'd have run him till he dropped. And when Iopened that purse it was full of money--there was eight hundred andtwenty-five dollars--and him trying to tell me he was broke!"

  "That's him, all right," declared the hobo. "Well, so long; I'll be onmy way."

  He started off down the trail at a long, swinging stride, then turnedabruptly back.

  "I'll get a drink," he suggested, "if there's no objection. Don't chargefor your water, I reckon."

  It was all said politely and yet there was an edge to it which cut OldBunk to the quick. He, Bunker Hill, who had fed hoboes for years and hadnever taken a cent, to be insulted like this by the first sturdy beggarthat he declined to serve with a meal! He reached for his gun, but justat that moment his wife laid a hand on his arm. She had not been faraway, just up on the porch where she could watch what was going on, andshe turned to the hobo with a smile.

  "Mr. Hill is just angry," she explained good-naturedly, "on account ofthat other man; but if you'll wait a few minutes I'll cook you somebreakfast and----"

  "Thank you, ma'am," returned the miner, taking off his hat civilly,"I'll just take a drink and go."

  He hurried back to the well and, picking up the bucket, drank long anddeep of the water; then he threw away the rest and with practiced handsdrew up a fresh bucket from the depths.

  "You'd better fill a bottle," called Bunker Hill, whose anger wasbeginning to evaporate, "it's sixteen miles to the next water."

  The hobo said nothing, nor did he fill a bottle, and as he came backpast them there was a set to his jaw that was eloquent of rage anddisdain. It was the custom of the country--of that great, desert countrywhere houses are days' journeys apart--to invite every stranger in; andas Bunker Hill gazed after him he saw his good name held up toexecration and scorn. This boy was a Westerner, he could tell by hislooks and the way he saved on his words, perhaps he even lived in thoseparts; and in a sudden vision Hill beheld him spreading the news as hefollowed the long trail to the railroad. He would come dragging in toWhitlow's Wells, the next station down the road, so weak he could hardlywalk and when they enquired into his famished condition he would unfoldsome terrible tale. And the worst of it was that the boys would believeit and repeat it to all who passed. Men would hear in distant cow camps,far back in the Superstitions, that Old Bunk had driven a starving manfrom his door and he had nearly perished on the desert.

  "Hey!" called Bunker Hill taking a step or two after him, "wait aminute--I'll give you a lunch."

  "You can keep your lunch," said the man over his shoulder and strodedoggedly on up the hill.

  "Gimme something to take to him," rapped out Hill to his wife, but thehobo's sharp ears had caught the words and he wheeled abruptly in histracks.

  "I wouldn't take your danged lunch if it was the last grub on earth," heshouted in a towering rage; and while they stood gazing he turned hisback and passed on over the hill.

  "Let 'im go!" grumbled Bunker pacing up and down and avoiding hishelpmeet's eye, but at last he ripped out a smothered oath and rackedoff down the street to his stable. This was an al fresco affair,consisting of a big stone corral within the walls of what had once beenthe dancehall, and as he saddled up his horse and rode out the narrowgate he found his wife waiting with a lunch.

  "Don't crush the doughnuts," she murmured anxiously and patted his handapprovingly.

  "All right," he said and, putting spurs to his horse, he galloped offover the hill.

  The old town of Pinal lay on a bench above the creek bed, with highcliffs to the east and north; but south and west the country fell offrapidly in a series of rolling ridges. Over these the road to therailroad climbed and dipped with wearisome regularity until at last itdropped down into the creek-bed again and followed its dry, sandycourse. Not half an hour had passed from the time the second hobo lefttill Old Bunk had started after him, yet so fast had he traveled that hewas almost to the creek bed before Bunker Hill caught sight of him.

  "Ay, Chihuahua!" he ejaculated in shrill surprise and reined in hishorse to gaze. The young hobo was running and, not far ahead, the GroundHog was fleeing before him. They ran through bushy gulches and overcactus-crowned ridges where the sahuaros rose up like giant sentinels;until at last, as he came to the sandy creek-bed, the black hobo stoodat bay.

  "They're fighting!" exclaimed Bunker with a joyous chuckle and rode downthe trail like the wind.

  After twenty wild years in Old Mexico, there were times when Bunker Hillfound Arizona a trifle tame; but here at last there was staged a combatthat promised to take a place in local history. When he rode up on thefight the young miner and the Ground Hog were standing belt to belt,exchanging blows with all their strength, and as the young man reeledback from a right to the jaw the Ground Hog leapt in to finish him.

  "Here! None of that!" spoke up Bunker Hill menacing the black hobo withhis quirt; but the battered young Apollo waved him angrily aside andflew at his opponent again.

  "I'll show you, you danged dog!" he cursed exultantly as the Ground Hogwent down before him, "I'll show you how to run out on me! Come on, youbig stiff, and if I don't make you holler quit you can have every dollaryou stole!"

  "Hey, what's the matter, Big Boy? What's going on here?" demanded Bunkerof the blond young giant. "I thought you fellers were pardners."

  "Pardners, hell!" spat Big Boy, whose mouth was beginning to bleed. "Herobbed me of all my money. We won eight hundred dollars in the drillingcontest at Globe and he collected the stakes and beat it!"

  "You're a liar!" retorted the Ground Hog standing sullenly on his guard,and once more Big Boy went after him. They roughed it back and forth,neither seeking to avoid the blows but swinging with all their might;until at last the Ground Hog landed a mighty smash that knocked hisopponent to the ground. "Now lay there," he jeered, and, stepping overto o
ne side, he picked up a purse from the ground.

  It was the same bulging purse that he had forgotten that morning in hishurry to get over the hill, and as Bunker Hill gazed at it two thingswhich had misled him became suddenly very plain. The day before had beenthe Fourth of July, when the miners had their contests in Globe, andthese two powerful men were a team of double-jackers who had won thefirst prize between them. Then the Ground Hog had stolen the totalproceeds, which accounted for his show of great wealth; and Big Boy, onthe other hand, being left without a cent, had been compelled to beg forhis breakfast. A wave of righteous anger rose up in Old Bunk's breast atthe monstrous injustice of it all and, whipping out his pistol, he threwdown on the Ground Hog and ordered him to put up his hands.

  "And now lay down that purse," he continued briefly, "before I shoot theflat out of your eye."

  The hobo complied, but before he could retreat the young miner raisedhimself up.

  "Say, you butt out of this!" he said to Bunker Hill, waggling his headto shake off the blood. "I'll 'tend to this yap myself."

  He turned his gory front to the Ground Hog, who came eagerly back to thefray; and once more like snarling animals they heaved and slugged andgrunted, until once more poor Big Boy went down.

  "I can whip him!" he panted rising up and clearing his eyes. "I couldclean him in a minute--only I'm starved."

  He staggered and the heart of Bunker Hill smote him when he rememberedhow he had denied the man food. Yet he bored in resolutely, though hisblows were weak, and the Ground Hog's pig eyes gleamed. He abated hisown blows, standing with arms relaxed and waiting; and when he saw theopening he struck. It was aimed at the jaw, a last, smashing hay-maker,such a blow as would stagger an ox; but as it came past his guard theyoung Apollo ducked, and then suddenly he struck from the hip. His wholebody was behind it, a sharp uppercut that caught the hurtling Ground Hogon the chin; and as his head went back his body lurched and followed andhe landed in a heap in the dirt.

  "He's out!" shouted Bunker and Big Boy nodded grimly; but the Ground Hogwas pawing at the ground. He rose up, and fell, then rose up again; andas they watched him half-pityingly he scrambled across the sand and madea grab at the purse.

  "You stand back!" he blustered clutching the purse to his breast andsnapping open the blade of a huge jack-knife; but before Old Bunk couldintervene Big Boy had caught up a rock.

  "You drop that knife," he shouted fiercely, "or I'll bash out yourbrains with this stone!" And as the Ground Hog gazed into his battle-madeyes he weakened and dropped the knife. "Now gimme that purse!" orderedthe masterful Big Boy and, cringing before the rock, the beaten GroundHog slammed it down on the ground with a curse.

  "I'll git you yet!" he burst out hoarsely as he shambled off down thetrail, "I'll learn you to git gay with me!"

  "You'll learn me nothing," returned the young miner contemptuously andgathered up the spoils of battle.