The Frontier, May 1926 — page 96: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

86 spread it on the ground. “That's it,” Joe exulted, now as ex- cited as his employer. “Whoever drawed that map knowed what he was doin’, I know this crick, and he sure was here. There’s the place where he found the nuggets—above the p’int where the crick slides under the wall.” Suddenly he threw up his head and barked at Squeaky Bill and Prayerful: “Keep an eye out fer the Injuns. We don’t all have to look at this map.’”’ He flicked the paper. moccasins,” “Go ahead, then,” ordered Mubs- ley. know it.” V I am the stream of which men dream, For me the bold and daring Have sailed the deep and scaled the steep, And to their doom went faring. I am the stream of which men dream, For me the coward, quailing, Has crushed his fears and hushed his tears, And cursed the thought of failing, I am the stream of which men dream, Be they awake or sleeping; To seize and hold my lees of gold, They'd blind the world with weeping. —Song of Pactolus OW,” said Joe to Aletes, as they came out on a wide bar, spotted here and there with clumps of quaking asp, “this p’int here is about a half-mile above where the crick runs under the canyon wall. But your map don’t show where they found the gold—jes’ says about half-mile above where the crick goes out’n sight.” “My uncle said they built a monu- ment of rocks, and he gave me direc- tions for finding the spot where they dug. The monument is on the south side of the canyon above tlie flood line.” “You say they were in here thirty year ago,” pondered Joe. “Well, things would change a heap in thirty years. Cloud-bursts have come down this canyon in that time, sweepin’ it as clean as a rabbit’s snoot. One thing certain, we won't find where they dug. That'll be all filled in and brushed over. They prob’ly didn’t dig deep, and——” “The thing to do is to look for the monument,” broke in Mubsley impa- tiently. He turned to the breeds and waved “Yep, that’s it. I know the place like my feét know their ~ “We'll be rich men before we THE FRONTIER his arms toward the far side of the canyon. “Rocks-high-hand laid-search!” he shouted in Sioux. After a prolonged search, they found the monument, grown over with raspberry bushes and weathered to the tones of its background. Topping it was a flat stone on which had been scratched the names of the party, with an arrow pointing in the direction of their find. The name of the youth’s uncle headed the list. “That's it,” said Aletes confidently. He patted the stone. “My uncle never made any mistakes. Everything is just as he told me.” “But the gold isn’t here,” grumbled Mubsley, looking around him as if he half expected to see lumps of the pre- cious stuff scattered about. “My uncle said to walk five hundred paces due north, which should bring us close to the bank of the stream. He said they dug in a bar along the stream, We'll see how it comes out.” He drew a small compass from his pocket, lined up with a lightning- blasted pine on the opposite side of the canyon, and slowly descended the slope. A few paces from the stream he halted and glanced around him, Per- haps there yet lingered some sign of the feverish work of the gold-seekers. But not even a dimple in the ground remained, Nature had long since filled in and smoothed over all evidences of the work of restless man. “This is as near as I can get to it,” he told Mubsley. “If you have tools, the next thing to do is to dig.” Mubsley looked at the ground dubi- ously, displaying no eagerness to doff his long coat. All his life he had been looking for easy money. Digging in ho way appealed to him. But there were the half-breeds; they could dig. He ordered them to unpack and bring up the picks and shovels. Aletes turned to Joe, while Mubsley was shouting orders at the breeds. “T’m sorry I can’t help here,” he said regretfully. “But it takes two hands to swing a pick.” ‘Jes’ you set down somewhere and look on,” Joe gently advised. “You'll git half of everything found anyway, as this is your find.” Mubsley whirled on the little fron- tiersman. “You're too fast with dividing up what you haven’t got,’ he snarled. “These are my tools and my men. I'll settle with him.” He waggled his head at Aletes. i 2 “You heard me talkin’,” twanged Joe, patting Never-fail, “This boy led us here and this find belongs to him. Half of what we git goes to him, as is his right. This is his claim, not yours or mine. And I’ve been think- in’ we'd better start a new deal. Half to the boy here, and the rest split up among us, equal share to each man. You may own the outfit, but you gotta have us to keep your hair on your head. A man’s hair is worth more’n any out- fit. If you don’t want us, whv, we'll hold a meetin’ and take over what you got fer the good of the most men. This here is a free country, and democratic. I’ve heerd, since I could tote a rifle, that the majority rules, and when the majority is concerned what one man thinks don’t count.” “This is robbery!” spluttered the trader, “I never heard of such a thing.” “You're hearin’ of it now, Mister Mubsley,” Joe grinned. “And I wouldn’t try to change the deal.” He cocked Never-fail. “Accidents will happen, you know, I’ve heerd of ac- cidents happenin’ to men like you. Gun goes off, and there’s a dead man, and nobody knows how it happened. There’s no law here, and so we've the right to make our own. If we should figger that you was goin’ ag’in’ what was right and proper fer this party, we could, if we wanted to, take a piece of rawhide and hang you by the neck.” Prayerful, who had been giving Joe’s words rapt attention, broke into a hoarse bellow of laughter. “Sure-fire and nineteen wildcats out’n hell with their tails tied together, Joe, you said all there was to be said!’ he yelled. He gave Mubsley a terrific slap on the back, “Haugh, haugh, old whey-belly, you’d sure look purty, a- hangin’ to a tree!” Mubsley’s thick lower lip hung slack and bloodless as a piece of tripe. He attempted to reply to the terrible neigh- ing of Prayerful, but the words stuck in his throat. “Let us have no more disputes,” he finally managed to husk; “no more disputes.” Joe leaned Never-fail against a sap- ling and snatched a pick from a breed. “Git at it,” he ordered. “Mubsley, you don’t seem to like heavy work, so you can help with the pannin’. You and Missoury and Buckskin kin pan and the rest of us will do the diggin’. And watch out,’ he added emphati- cally, “watch out fer Injuns. Gold won't do us no good with our hides full of Sioux arrers.” Gomi 0)(0)() @) <SriGOim