The Argosy, Vol. 83 No. 1 — page 193: what you’re looking at

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

SLIDE-SHOVEL. “Give me power of attorney an’ I'll do it. It’s the only thing to do.” “The only thing,” slowly admitted the man on the wheelbarrow. As he made out the paper empowering Graves to sell the claim the younger man’s face lighted with some of his old time spirit. “Let’s fire the last round of holes, Al, then maybe we won’t have to see Dafney.”’ Graves snatched the paper impatiently and started down the snow-filled trail. Griffin watched his partner’s figure until it was hidden by a bend in the trail, then taking dynamite, percussion caps, fuse and loading stick, he entered the tunnel and loaded the four holes he had drilled there. Spitting the fuses when the holes were loaded he ran out to the dump and waited. The shots went off with a dull “funk— funk—funk—funk” and almost before the smoke and dust had settled he went into the tunnel again. He reappeared instantly with an armful of rock fragments dotted with free gold. “Al! Al!” he shouted, and when there was no response from his partner he floundered along the trail in pursuit of Graves. Realizing the futility of trying to catch up with him Griffin returned to the dump where he stood helplessly for a moment. Was there no way to block the sale of the property now that a rich strike had been made? Presently his eyes rested on the dim out- lines of a shovel a short distance from the tunnel portal and a wild idea formed in his brain. Grasping the shovel he ran to the edge of the dump, glanced down the sixty degree hillside and smiled. “By George,” he shouted excitedly, “Ill . ride the old shovel down on the snow and stop Al where he swings into the canon from the trail.” The weather had changed to a biting cold and there was a heavy crust on the snow. Placing some of the ore fragments in his coat pockets he sat on the iron blade of the shovel, grasped the handle in front of 183 him and teetering on the edge of the dump slipped over on to the sharp slope. He regretted his action almost immedi- ately, for the shovel, slick from constant usage, picked up speed alarmingly and plunged downward at a terrific gait. Con- trol was out of the question and Griffin hung on and wondered how long it would take him to make the thousand foot drop to the main canon bed. The blade of the shovel became pleas- ~ antly warm and then unbearably hot. The rush of wind blinded the man, he whirled about helplessly, there was a sudden jolt, a sense of flying, a crash, and then ob- livion. IV. GRAVES waded steadily through the heavy snow on his way down the trail to the canon. He heard the shots set off by his partner and ‘the sound drew his lips into a straight firm line. . “Cantankerous chump,” he muttered. ‘He ought to be walking along the trail with me now. I believe in a man stickin’ O. K., but this here bull-headed idea ain’t proper by a long shot.” And he kept on down the trail. Rounding a granite cropping he came out on the canon wagon road and stopped with a gasp when he saw Griffin sprawled out in the snow a few feet away from him. “Blown up,” he grumbled, running to- ward the prostrate figure. ‘On purpose,” he thought. ‘“‘No, for he’d have no rea- son,” he corrected himself, and then seeing the shovel for the first time, ““What the Sam Hill is that doin’ here?” Griffin stirred, opened his eyes, and then sat up suddenly. ‘““Al, Al,” he shouted, falling back with a groan. : “Right here, partner,” Graves answered soothingly. ‘What is it?” ‘‘Slideshovel— Bonanza —-Gold — High- grade,” muttered Griffin incoherently. But Graves understood. ‘‘Slideshovel she is,” he agreed, and so the Slideshovel mine, rich among rich gold | bonanzas, was uncovered and named. CORmMICLOOKS (C@)