Part 14

“How to prospect, eh? Well, we have a theory that the deposits of gold are stored in certain unknown places, and are distributed about the main bed of a river by means of the creeks or gulches. When we have selected a creek, we look for the spot where it bends or slants under the side of the rock, because, if there is gold to be found in that particular creek, we shall find it there, though it does not by any means follow that the bend will prove to be the richest spot in the valley. We prospect at the angle merely to ascertain whether there is any gold in the creek or not. The next thing to do is to strike a hole to bed-rock, and that’s where the work begins. It is best done in the winter, when the water is frozen.”

Hanafin broke off, and looked straight ahead with anger upon his face.

We were close to the river, near a shallow part where a bar of gravel made a bridge across three-fourths of the stream. Hanafin turned to Akshelah.

“Do you see those stakes, my girl? There!”

“Yes,” said Akshelah, and when she spoke I saw them, too.

“They mean that we are not the first here. Some miner has been before us, and has staked out the claim below the forks.”

“Then we’ll get to work, and pull up his posts,” suggested MacCaskill.

“So there is at least one experienced miner already in Bonanza,” began Hanafin.

“And his name is Redpath,” I added.

“What an indomitable man!” exclaimed Hanafin. “Directly Petrie had opened the hole, he must have fought his passage through the mosquitos, and here he is, washing out for all he’s worth.”

“There are no men,” said Akshelah.

“Not likely. Directly they saw us come out of the channel they would have escaped into their holes,” said Hanafin. “Well, let’s make a raft.”

We cut down the three largest spruce trees we could find, lopped them, and dragged the logs thus made across the bar to the water. While I cut the notches in these logs, the others went for the smaller trees, and when we had sufficient, our raft was quickly afloat and across the narrow channel, which was nowhere more than four feet in depth, MacCaskill pushing with a white birch pole on one side and I upon the other. We went up to the side of the hill and down to where the creeks forked, until we reached the claim which had just been opened.

“Two men!” cried Akshelah, pointing out the tracks.

Hanafin measured the distance with his eye, saying:

“A gulch claim is two hundred and fifty feet from post to post. Redpath is no amateur. A legal post stands four feet above ground, and is flat on both sides for at least one foot from the top. You see, these posts are perfectly legal.”

“Can’t we pull ’em up?” asked the factor, and when the inspector had replied in the negative, he objected:

“They ain’t legal miners.”

“Can you give me proof that the men do not hold free miners’ certificates?” said Hanafin sharply. “This claim cannot be touched unless the miner who has staked assigns, or allows his ownership to lapse.”

“And by all the gold of Jerusalem, here he comes!” shouted MacCaskill.

Down the hillside Olaffson proceeded unconcernedly, making a straight line for us, and presently we could hear him whistling.

“Mornin’!” he called insolently, when half-a-dozen yards away.

“Well?” said Hanafin, fixing him with his keen glance. “What’s your business?”

“With you, mister. You’re mining recorder of the district, I guess?”

“Yes; until the Department makes an appointment.”

“I want to take out a miner’s certificate, an’ I want to record a claim.”

“You do, eh?” called MacCaskill, moving out menacingly. “And what you’ll get is an everlastin’ poundin’ with a spruce stick--”

“If there’s anything personal between you and this man, wait till I have done with him,” interrupted Hanafin curtly.

The factor turned to me, growling and fuming, and I was hot enough to say:

“We’ve got a lot against him. He burnt my house at Yellow Sands. He tried to settle me at Gull--”

“I’ve not fallen in love with the man,” interposed Hanafin. “Anyhow, the charges you bring are rather outside my jurisdiction. This man is merely an agent. He is repeating the lessons his principal has taught him. Did Redpath ask you to take out a certificate for him as well?” he asked ironically.

The stunted figure held its ground.

“Redpath’s gone.”

“Who’s been working this claim with you?”

“An old Indian.”

“Lift up your foot,” ordered Hanafin.

The Icelander looked startled, but thought it best to obey.

Hanafin called Akshelah.

“Look at that boot. Now will you find me one of his partner’s tracks?”

Akshelah found it immediately upon the hard sand. Hanafin knelt by the impression, took a little tape-measure from his pocket, and measured it every way. When he had finished, he consulted his pocket-book. Then he smiled.

“When Redpath escaped me that night he shot the trooper, I took the precaution of measuring a footprint he left in the mud before mounting. Now I am able to prove that this man is a liar!”

MacCaskill chuckled. The scoundrels had met more than their match.

“You may carry a message from me to your master,” went on Hanafin, and he scribbled upon a leaf of the ever-present pocket-book, and gave the note into the Icelander’s short hand. Then he said: “Give me ten dollars.”

“Yes, mister,” said Olaffson, and his face became almost cheerful as he handed over the money, which he had ready in bills crushed up in his hand. Hanafin began to write again, and he spoke each word aloud as he set it down:

“Dominion of Canada. Free miner’s certificate. Non-transferable. Date. Number One. Valid for one year only. This is to certify that--What’s your first name?”

“Don’t know.”

“Olaffson,” wrote down the inspector. “Where do you come from?”

“Anywhere.”

“Of Hanafin City,” wrote the owner of the name, a smile about his mouth, “has paid me this day the sum of ten dollars, and is entitled to all the rights and privileges of a free miner for one year from the date of this certificate.” He wrote his signature, tore out the leaf, and gave it to the applicant. “Come to my office after noon to-morrow to record your claim. A grant for placer-mining is too lengthy to make out here. The fee will be fifteen dollars.”

“Here it is, mister!” exclaimed the Icelander, holding out his other hand.

“You have learnt your lesson well. I cannot take the money now. Bring it to-morrow to my office in Front Street. And remember,” he added curtly, “this is your claim, and any other man who works upon it without your consent renders himself liable to be arrested.”

As we turned away, MacCaskill began to complain.

“Why did you want to use him so good?” he demanded.

Hanafin answered contentedly: “I think I have checkmated Redpath. Wait until you see how Olaffson’s noble character develops under what I have said to him.” His manner changed, and he went on briskly: “Let’s prospect. If there is gold in the creek, we shall find surface indications beneath yonder rocks. I’ll wash out the first pan for luck.”

He stopped just under the bank, where the creek bent obliquely, and taking MacCaskill’s shovel, rapidly cleared away the surface accumulations, and turned up the coarse gravel and stones, throwing this waste aside with quick, easy motions.

“Now for pay-dirt!”

He lifted a little of the finer gravel into the pan, which MacCaskill held out with nervous hands.

“First we strike our bar,” said Hanafin, as we went down to where the water ran to the river, “then wash out a few panfuls of the gravel or sand, and watch for the colours. By the number we find it becomes easy after a little experience to calculate how much in cold cash the bar will yield daily.”

“This dirt’s awful rich!” gasped MacCaskill, shifting the pan from side to side. “Look at the specks a-glitterin’!”

“Wait until the water goes in. Give me the pan.”

Hanafin took the shallow steel dish, and inserted it into the water with a deft side motion, bringing it out again with the same movement.

A cry of admiration broke from the mercurial factor when a host of sparklets sprang towards the surface of the pan, and settled down slowly through the water, turning over and over.

“Look at that, Rupe!” he shouted, hitting me with his elbow.

“No good,” said Hanafin grimly; and MacCaskill’s joy departed from him.

“What! Ain’t that gold?” he asked angrily.

“Flake gold. There’s less than one cent’s worth there. Those specks are flatter than gold-leaf. If there is pay-dirt, it will be among the black sand at the bottom.”

The inspector continued to whirl the pan, and then he inclined it, still shaking, with a more gentle and rotary movement, and we saw the gravel washed out into the water of the creek, until nothing was left except a deposit of black sand, which we learnt was pulverised magnetic iron ore.

“Fine or coarse, or none at all?” the inspector muttered, bending low.

“I suppose fine dirt ain’t no pay?” suggested MacCaskill morosely.

“Yes, but it involves slow and laborious methods,” replied the man who shook the pan. “We should have to introduce a little mercury to form an amalgam with the gold. This amalgam we should then heat on a shovel, until the mercury had been given off in vapour, and the gold would remain in a lump. Look there!”

He had washed away nearly all the black sand, and now pointed to some tiny specks nestling by themselves in a corner of the pan.

“Coarse--ten cents at the least.”

“Golden gates!” exclaimed MacCaskill. “You call this gold-minin’! I wouldn’t a-troubled to have picked out that little bit of stuff.”

“Ten cents to one pan is excellent pay. Far less than that gives a grub stake,” said Hanafin. Then he looked up at MacCaskill’s dissatisfied countenance. “Nobody who has not been a miner understands anything about this business. Whenever the discovery cry gets heard, thousands come racing out of the world full of the idea that they are just going to stake, record, dig and pick out lumps of solid gold, which they will exchange for cash, and return to the world with a fortune. This is the reality. This is a rich country, boys, which is going to make millionaires. Now I’ll show you where to stake.”

We followed Hanafin to where the creeks joined, and below this junction, going in the direction of the running water, between Olaffson’s claim and the river, he stopped.

“The gold from both creeks should be held here. Number One claim may be the richest, as Redpath guessed. Cut your stakes, and I’ll measure out.”

When we had staked out Number Three, which was the factor’s, I went back to my own. On the flatted side of the post I saw that Hanafin had fastened a piece of paper, and I found to my great delight that I was able to read what he had written. The paper bore the name of my claim, “Number Two MacCaskill,” its length, the date, and my name in full.

But “Number Four MacCaskill” was being staked, and Hanafin smiled mysteriously as he affixed its description on the flat side of the near post.

“Mr. John Smith!” exclaimed MacCaskill, after reading. “Who in Jerusalem’s he?”

Hanafin’s mysterious smile continued.

“He’s something by necessity out of red-tape,” he said. “It’s not for me to break the letter of the law, but a man must help himself when he has nothing beyond his pay. I know, anyhow, that you won’t give ‘Mr. Smith’ away.”

“Good luck to ye!” exclaimed the factor heartily, and I endorsed his cry.

We ferried back across the Akshelah, climbed up the channel, and so back towards Mosquito Hole.

MacCaskill had one question to ask:

“What might that message have been you sent to Redpath?”

Hanafin replied:

“The man has gone too far. I am after him for the shooting of one of my own boys, and he stakes out a claim under my nose, and sends his partner to me to record for him. The message I sent was that I had given instructions for him to be shot on sight.”

And MacCaskill chuckled delightedly.

We reached the brow, where we could take our last look over Bonanza, and here Akshelah called out. Two pigmy figures were to be seen toiling and sweating upon “Number One MacCaskill.”

Hanafin broke the silence.

“One can’t help admiring sheer perseverance. We will leave him to his treasure-hunting now, but to-morrow we shall all be down there, and then--exit Redpath.”

We descended the canyon, but by the time we regained the defile, old friends were awaiting us--Lennie, Pete, Dave, and company, all with great packs containing supplies they had taken from the _Carillon_. They greeted us loudly, and not without a certain amount of chaff.

“So you have got here, you crowd!” said MacCaskill, very morosely.

“And we ain’t here for our health either,” piped Lennie joyously. “The ole boat can lie on the mud while I stake out me claim. I ain’t cheatin’ anyone. See? She belongs to rich companies, an’ ye can’t cheat companies.”

“Say! ain’t you ben hustlin’?” exclaimed Pete admiringly. “Run a big buildin’ up in jest no time, ye have!”

The soldiers had done their work quickly, and the log-house looked well upon the long green slope.

Suddenly Hanafin stepped out of the aperture left for the door, and fastened a notice outside.

We all gathered round to read:--

“Temporary Barracks and City Hall, Hanafin City.

Inspector, HENRY P. HANAFIN, (North-West Mounted Police), Temporary Acting Gold Commissioner and Mining Recorder.”

The men took off their hats and gave three wild cheers for Hanafin City.

We had guarded our secret well, MacCaskill and I; and yet, despite our care, the population on the day of our arrival had numbered ten. Already it was eighteen.

DISQUALIFIED

It was noon, and there was not a sound in the city. Front Street consisted as yet of the log-built town hall, our own unfinished residence, and a tent brought from the mud-held ship. The population had gone through the tunnel into Bonanza, with the exception of Hanafin, Akshelah, and myself. MacCaskill had gone early to his claim, having the night before improvised, with Norman’s aid, a marvellous rocker. Even the uncouth Morrison had gone after the dirt. He had passed me earlier, and I had asked him whether he felt lonely now that justice had overtaken his late associate, only to receive the reply, which I might have looked for:

“Sure! Ye see, he owed me fourteen dollars.”

I had arranged with my partner to stay and complete our shanty, so that we might have shelter in case of bad weather. I had worked all morning, and had finished everything, except the thatching, when Hanafin came up and handed me the first official documents I had ever received, one being my free miner’s certificate, the other a grant for placer-mining over “Number Two MacCaskill.”

“How old is mademoiselle?” asked the handsome soldier, turning to the girl with a smile, which, from some cause known only to herself, did not appear to fascinate her.

I happened to know, and replied for her that she would be eighteen at the beginning of winter.

“Ah, that’s a pity!” said Hanafin sincerely. “Eighteen is the age-limit. Had you been a few months older I could have given you a certificate also.”

“I do not want the yellow dirt,” said Akshelah, quite angrily.

The inspector laughed, and muttering “Happy girl!” walked back to what he called his office.

“Tell me what is written there,” said Akshelah, eyeing the sheet suspiciously.

I was not sure whether I could read it, but I tried, and made a wonderful success. Slowly, and with not a little blundering over the harder words, I made out the following:--

“No. 2. Department of the Interior.

“Agency, Hanafin City, North-west Athabasca (?), July, 1895.

“In consideration of the payment of the prescribed fee by Rupert Petrie, of Yellow Sands, the Minister of the Interior hereby grants to the said Rupert Petrie, for the term of one year from the date hereof, the exclusive right of entry upon the claim registered as Number Two, MacCaskill Gulch, Akshelah River district, in the country called Bonanza, for the miner-like working thereof, and the construction of a residence thereon; and the exclusive right to all the proceeds realised therefrom, upon which, however, the royalty prescribed by the regulations (to be approved of by Order in Council) shall be paid.

“The said Rupert Petrie shall be entitled to the use of so much of the water naturally flowing through or past his claim, and not already lawfully appropriated, as shall be necessary for the due working thereof, and to drain his claim free of charge.

“This grant does not convey to the said Rupert Petrie any right of ownership in the soil covered by the said claim; and the said grant shall lapse and be forfeited unless the claim is continuously, and in good faith, worked by the said Rupert Petrie or his associates.

“HENRY P. HANAFIN, “(Acting) Mining Recorder.”

Akshelah sighed.

“And you are going to look for the yellow dirt, too?” she said lingeringly.

“That’s what I came away for,” I answered her lightly.

“He made you come.” She meant MacCaskill. “You did not want to come away. You were happy beside the bright waters, and I was very happy. We caught the fish, and we hunted.” Her eyes were full of tears. “You have forgotten all that, and you never laugh with me now.”

She was partly right. I was growing worldly-wise, but I did not forget. I could not forget the walks with Akshelah over the rolling grass-hills, among the tall sulphur-lilies, and those idle paddles on my own little laughing water. I did not forget the hunting expeditions, and those songs and stories we had sung and told to each other, and those foolish kisses under the sunshine, and sometimes under the moon. How could I forget those happiest days? All had been so peaceful in that life which seemed so far away, until Redpath, the destroyer of trust, had come to link my quiet world with his, and all since then had been fighting and deceit. Had not this place and its gold ruined my father?

The voice of Akshelah was in my ears.

“We shall stay here, and Pepooa will creep up around us, and Mispoor will fall and hold us. The long night will come, and the ghost-lights will whisper always in the sky.” She shuddered. “And there will be beast-men! I see them coming, the men who will drink hot waters, and fight one another through the long night, and they will take me away from you, and I shall die--far from my own people and my own land. And you will learn the ways of that world; you--you will drink hot waters, and fight too.”

Had my poor maid gone on in that strain, I think she would have prevailed upon me to have taken her home; but the figure of Hanafin stood out, and I heard his voice shouting to me.

“Be brave, little squirrel,” I said, taking her two small hands. Then I hurriedly kissed her wet eyes, and obeyed the inspector’s call.

Olaffson was inside the office, sitting upon a log, his white face malevolent and hungry-looking.

Hanafin turned to me, and spoke at once.

“You told me, Petrie, that the late Leblanc upon a certain occasion accused this man of being the murderer of old Fagge. I want this matter cleared up finally, both for your sake and for the sake of the old man’s connections south. I understand you have accused the late Mr. Petrie of being the murderer,” he went on, addressing the Icelander, who broke in at once:

“That was Redpath. He thought Petrie done it, I guess. I know now Petrie didn’t, but I never thought ’twas Leblanc till t’other night. He ’cused me, ’cause he hated me bad. I took a knife to him one time, but he druve me to it.” He paused, and wiped his mouth. “Now, Jim Morrison mighter told ye quite a bit. They was pards, an’ Gedeon was man to ole Fagge for quite a while. The ole chap was moony.” The Icelander’s voice grew louder with confidence. “Ole man struck a wonderful rich find right here. Right here! A reg’lar hole of dirt, coarse dirt, an’ nothing but dirt.”

Perspiration started out upon his slimy forehead, and he paused for breath, blinking at us.

“Get along,” said Hanafin quietly.

“Leblanc knew of it, an’ no one ’cept him an’ ole man did know of it. So Leblanc got to work, an’ fixed ole man late one night when he was asleep, an’ when Petrie was asleep. Ye see, he reckoned to come back one time, an’ open up that hole. P’r’aps he never split to Jim. P’r’aps he was hidin’ it from Jim.”

“Stay a bit,” said Hanafin. “How did you find out this?”

The Icelander grinned.

“The night he an’ Jim got here, I come around to try an’ level up things wi’ Leblanc. Jim had lef’ him, an’ gone to Mister Petrie’s camp. Gedeon was a-sittin’ by a rock, sorter stupid wi’ hunger, an’ a-talkin’ to hisself, so pleased to have got here. I set beside that rock, an’ listened to his talk. That’s how I found out. I might a-been his priest, an’ him a-confessin’.”

“You tried to kill him,” I interjected.

“He shifted hisself by accident, an’ I scarce touched him. He was a dirty murderer, anyhow,” said the little wretch, unabashed.

“You told this to Redpath?” questioned Hanafin.

“Had to,” admitted Olaffson, though he had only yesterday sworn that Redpath was not in the district. “Ye see, Gedeon never let out jest where the place was, an’ I don’t know the first thing ’bout prospectin’. It was somewhere near where them two creeks jined, an’ I told Redpath, an’ he staked out that claim at the forks.” He spat a chew upon the ground, and got up, smacking his two stunted hands together. “An’ now I’ve beat him. Gol’ darn it, but I’ve beat him every way!”

“Now we understand why Redpath stops here,” said Hanafin to me. “Now we understand the reason for that haste of his.” He added still more slowly: “Now you understand how I have checkmated Redpath.”

“How?” I exclaimed.

“Listen,” said Hanafin.

The Icelander was raving in his triumph.

“What’s his price, inspector? What’s the Government figure for Redpath? I’ve got him for sale. Ye shall have him. I’ve got no more use for him. I’ll sell him, body an’ blood an’ bones.”

The little miscreant shivered with his excitement.

“How about the claim?” suggested Hanafin.