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

by Dane Coolidge

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE ANSWER

  There are some kinds of questions which require no answers and otherswhich answer themselves. Denver had asked Bunker what he meant when herefused Drusilla's address and intimated that he was unworthy of herfriendship, but after a gloomy hour in the deepening twilight thequestion answered itself. Bunker had taken his daughter across thedesert, on her way to the train and New York, and his curt remarks werebut the reflex of her's as she discussed Denver's many transgressions.He thought more of mines and of his own selfish interests than he did ofher and her art, and so she desired to hear no more of him or hisprotestations of innocence. That was what the words meant and as Denverthought them over he wondered if it was not true.

  Drusilla had greeted him cordially when he had returned from Globe andhad invited him to dinner that same night, but he had refused because heneeded the sleep and begrudged the daylight to take it. And the next dayhe had worked even harder than before and had forgotten her invitationentirely. She was to sing just for him and, after the singing, she wouldhave told him all her plans; and then perhaps they might have spoken ofother things and parted as lovers should. But no, he had spoiled it byhis senseless hurry in getting his ore off with McGraw; and now, withall the time in the world on his hands, the valley below was silent. Nota scale, not a trill, not a run or roulade; only silence and the frogswith their devilish insistence, their ceaseless _eh_, _eh_,_eh_. He rose up and heaved a stone into the creek-bed below, thenwent in and turned on his phonograph.

  They were real people to him now, these great artists of the discs;Drusilla had described them as she listened to the records and even theplaces where they sang. She had pictured the mighty sweep of theMetropolitan with its horse-shoe of glittering boxes; the balconiesabove and the standing-room below where the poor art-students gatheredto applaud; and he had said that when he was rich he would subscribe fora box and come there just to hear her sing. And now he was broke, andDrusilla was going East to run the perilous gauntlet of the tenors. Hejerked up the stylus in the middle of a record and cursed his besottedindustry. If he had let his ore go, and gone to see her like agentleman, Drusilla might even now be his. She might have relented andgiven him a kiss--he cursed and stumbled blindly to bed.

  In the morning he went to work in the close air of the tunnel, whichsadly needed a fan, and then he hurled his hammer to the ground and felthis way out to daylight. What was the use of it all; where did it gethim to, anyway; this ceaseless, grinding toil? Murray's camp had shutdown, the promoters had vanished, Pinal was deader than ever; hegathered up his tools and stored them in his cave, then sat down towrite her a letter. Nothing less than the truth would win her back nowand he confessed his shortcomings humbly; after which he told her thatthe town was too lonely and he was leaving, too. He sealed it in anenvelope and addressed it with her name and when he was sure that OldBunk was not looking he slipped in and gave it to her mother.

  "I'm going away," he said, "and I may not be back. Will you send that onto Drusilla?"

  "Yes," she smiled and hid it in her dress; but as he started for thedoor she stopped him.

  "You might like to know," she said, "that Drusilla has received anengagement. She is substitute soprano in a new Opera Company that isbeing organized to tour the big cities. I'm sorry you didn't see her."

  "Yes," answered Denver, "I'm sorry myself--but that never bought a mananything. Just send her the letter and--well, goodby."

  He blundered out the door and down the steps, and there stretched theroad before him. In the evening he was as far as Whitlow's Well and agreat weight seemed lifted from his breast. He was free again, free towander where he pleased, free to make friends with any that he met--forif the prophecy was not true in regard to his mine it was not trueregarding his friends. And how could any woman, by cutting a pack ofcards and consulting the signs of the zodiac, predict how a man woulddie? Denver made himself at home with a party of hobo miners who hadcome in from the railroad below, and that night they sat up late,cracking jokes and telling stories of every big camp in the West. It wasthe old life again, the life that he knew and loved, drifting on fromcamp to camp with every man his friend. Yet as he stretched out thatnight by the flickering fire he almost regretted the change. He was freefrom the great fear, free to make friends with whom he would; but, towin back the love of the beautiful young artist, he would have given uphis freedom without a sigh.

  His sleep that night was broken by strange dreams and by an automobilethat went thundering by, and in the morning as they cooked a mulligantogether he saw two great motor trucks go past. They were loaded withmen and headed up the canyon and Denver began to look wild. A thirdmachine appeared and he went out to flag it but the driver went bywithout stopping; and so did another, and another. He rushed after thenext one and caught it on the hill but the men pushed him roughly fromthe running board. They were armed and he knew by their hard-bittenfaces that it was another party of jumpers.

  "Where are you going?" he yelled but they left him by the road withouteven a curse for an answer. Well, he knew then; they were going toFinal, and Murray had fooled him again. Denver had suspected from thefirst that Murray's shutdown was a ruse, to shake down the public fortheir stock; and now he knew it, and that if his mine was jumped againit would be held against all comers. Another automobile whirled by; andthen came men that he knew, the miners who owned claims in the district.

  "What's the matter?" he called but they would not stop to talk, simplyshouted and beckoned him on. Denver started, right then, withoutstopping for breakfast or to pick up his hobo's pack; and soon he caughta ride with a party of prospectors whose claims he had once freed fromjumpers.

  "It's a big strike!" they clamored, hauling him in and rushing on. "OldMurray struck copper in his tunnel! _Rich?_ Hell, yes!" And theygave him all the details as the machine lurched along up the road.

  Murray had struck another ore-body, entirely different from the firstone--the copper had come out the drill-holes like pure metal--and thenhe had shut down and rushed the machine-men away before they could tellof the strike. But they had got loose down in Moroni and showed thedrill-dust and every man that saw it had piled into his machine andjoined the rush for Murray's.

  "Jumped again!" muttered Denver and when he arrived in Pinal he foundhis mine swarming with men. They had built a barricade and run a pipeline down the hill to pump up water from the creek, and when he appearedthey ordered him off without showing so much as a head. And he went, forthe swiftness of the change had confused him; he was whipped before hebegan. There was no use to fight or to put up a bluff, the men behindthe wall were determined; and while, according to law, they held notitle the law was far away. It was a weapon for rich men who couldafford to pay the price; but how could he, a poor man, hope to win backhis claim when it was held by Bible-Back Murray? He went down to thestore, where the Miners' Meeting was assembled, and beckoned Bunkeraside.

  "Mr. Hill," he said, "you promised me one time to give me the loan of agun. Well, now is the time I need it."

  "Nope," warned Bunker, "you ain't got a chance. Them fellers are just uphere to get you."

  "Well, for self-defense!" protested Denver, "Dave sent word he'd killme."

  "Keep away, then," advised Bunker, "don't give him no chance. But ifthem fellers should jump on you, just run to my house and I'll slip youthe old Injun-tamer."

  Denver went out on the street, now swarming with traffic, and looked uptoward his mine; and as he gazed he walked up closer until he stopped atthe fork of the trails. The men behind the wall were watching himgrimly, without letting their faces be seen; but as he stood therelooking they began to bandy jests and presently to taunt him openly. ButDenver did not answer, for he divined their evil purpose, and at last heturned quietly away.

  "Hey! Come back here!" roared a voice and Denver whirled in his tracksfor he knew it was Slogger Meacham's. He was standing there now, lookingacross the barricade, and as Denver met his gaze he laughed.

  "
Ho! Ho!" he rumbled folding his arms across his breast and thrustingout his huge black mustache. "Well, how do you feel about it now?"

  "Never mind," returned Denver and, leaving him gloating, he hurried awaydown the trail. Old Bunk was right, they had come there to get him, andthere was no use playing into their hands; yet at thought of SloggerMeacham his hair began to bristle and he muttered half-formed threats.The Slogger had come to get him--and Dave Chatwourth was behind there,too--the whole district was dominated by their gang; but the times wouldchange and with inrush of other men the jumpers would soon beout-numbered. It was better then to wait, to let the excitement die downand law and order return; and then, with a deputy sheriff at his back,he could eject them by due process of law. The claim was his, his paperswere recorded and no lawyer could question their validity--no, the bestthing was to let the jumpers rage, to say nothing and keep out of sight.That was all that he had to do.

  But to avoid them was not so easy, for as the day wore on and no attemptwas made to oust them, the jumpers walked boldly into town. At first itwas Chatwourth, to buy some tobacco and break in on the Miners' Meeting;and then Slogger Meacham, a huge mountain of a man, came ambling downthe street. He slouched down on the store platform and leered about himevilly, but Denver had retreated to his cave under the cliff and theSlogger returned to the mine. Then they came down in a body, Chatwourthand Meacham and all the jumpers; but though his mine was left openDenver refrained from going near it, for their purpose was becoming veryplain. They were trying to inveigle him into openly opposing them, afterwhich they would have a pretext for resorting to actual violence. Buttheir plans went no further for he remained in retirement and theMiners' Meeting adjourned. Soon the street was deserted, except fortheir own numbers, and they returned to the mine with shrill whoops.

  From his lookout above Denver watched them with a smile, for his nervehad come back to him now. Now that Murray had made his strike, andincreased the value of the Silver Treasure by a thousand per cent overnight, Denver's mind had swung back like a needle to the pole to hisformer belief in the prophecy. He had doubted it twice and renounced ittwice, but each time as if by an act of Providence he was rebuked forhis lack of faith. Now he _knew_ it was so--that the mine would berestored and that only his dearest friend could kill him. So he smiledalmost pityingly at the loud-mouthed jumpers and went boldly down thetrail.

  The hush of evening was in the air when he knocked at Bunker Hill's doorand after a look about Old Bunk went back into the house and brought outa heavy pistol. It was an old-fashioned six-shooter of the Indian-tamertype--a single action, wooden-handled forty-five--and Bunker fingered itlovingly as he handed it over to Denver.

  "For self-defense, understand," he said beneath his breath, "and lookout, that bunch is sure ranicky."

  "Much obliged," responded Denver and tested the action before he slippedthe gun in its belt. He was starting for his cave, when from his cabinup the street the Professor came out and beckoned him.

  "What do you want?" called Denver; then, receiving no answer, he strodeimpatiently up the street.

  "Come in," urged the Professor touching his nose for secrecy, "come in,I vant to show you some-t'ing."

  "Well, show it to me here," answered Denver but the Professor drew himinside the house.

  "You look oudt vat you do," he warned mysteriously, "dem joompers areliable to see you."

  "I should worry," said Denver and, whipping out the gun, he made themotions of fanning the hammer.

  "Now, now," reproved Diffenderfer drawing back in a panic; and then helaughed, but nervously.

  "Well, what do you want to show me?" demanded Denver bluntly. "Hurry upnow--I hear somebody coming."

  "Oh, nutting--come again!" exclaimed the Professor apprehensively. "Cometo-morrow--I show you everyt'ing!"

  "You'll show me now," returned Denver imperturbably, "I'm not afraid ofthe whole danged bunch. Come on, what have you got--a bottle?"

  "Yoost a piece of copper from Murray's tunnel--Mein Gott, I hear demboys coming!"

  He sprang to the door and dropped the heavy bar but Denver struck it upand stepped out.

  "What the hell are you trying to do?" he demanded suspiciously and thedoor slammed to behind him.

  "Run! Run!" implored the Professor staring out through his peep-hole butDenver lolled negligently against the house. A crowd of men, headed bySlogger Meacham, were coming down the street; but it was not for him tofly. He had a gun now, as well as they, and his back was against thewall. They could pass by or stop, according to their liking; but theshow-down had come, there and now.

  They came on in a bunch down the middle of the street, ignoring hiswatchful glances; but as the rest trampled past Slogger Meacham turnedhis head and came to a bristling halt.

  "Well," he said, "out for a little airing?" And the jumpers swung inbehind him.

  "Yes," answered Denver regarding him incuriously and the Slogger moved astep or two closer.

  "You start anything around here," he went on significantly, "and you'llbe airing the smoke out of your clothes. We got your number, see, andwe're here to put your light out if you start to make a peep."

  "Is that so?" observed Denver still standing at a crouch and one or twoof the men walked off.

  "Come on, boys," they said but Meacham stood glowering and Chatwourthstepped out in front of him. "I hear," he said to Denver, "that you'vebeen making your brag that you kin whip me with a handful of stones."

  "Never mind, now," replied Denver, "I'm not looking for trouble. You goon and leave me alone."

  "I'll go when I damned please!" cried Chatwourth in a passion and as headvanced on Denver the crowd behind him suddenly gave a concerted shove.Denver saw the surge coming and stepped aside to avoid it, undeterminedwhether to strike out or shoot; but as he was slipping away SloggerMeacham made a rush and struck him a quick blow in the neck. He whirledand struck back at him, the air was full of fists and guns, swung likeclubs to rap him on the head; and then he went down with Meacham on topof him and a crashing blow ringing in his ears. When he came to hissenses he was stripped and mauled and battered, and a stranger stoodover him with a gun.

  "You're my prisoner," he said and Denver sat up startled.

  "Why--what's the matter?" he asked looking about at the crowd that hadgathered on the scene of the fight, "what's the matter with that jasperover there?"

  "He's dead--that's all," answered the officer laughing shortly, "you hithim over the head with this gun."

  "I did not!" burst out Denver, "I never even drew it. Say, who is thatfellow, anyway?"

  "Name was Meacham," returned the officer, "come on."