CHAPTER LXXI.

THE BRIGHT SIDE OF PROSPECTING.

In the place where we had encamped for dinner there was on one side of the ravine, and at the height of about fifty feet above its bed, a long bench of rocks on which were piled, tier upon tier, rocks that bore a striking resemblance to sacks of grain. Always having the “evil one” in their winds when not in the wilderness, the boys called this place the “Devil’s Levee.” Another place, on the opposite side of the cañon, where a dozen or more huge, egg-shaped boulders, set on end, stood nodding this way and that, they christened the “Granite Polka.”

Continuing our journeysners were at work who were reported to be making from $10 to $20 per day. They seemed much surprised to see our party and told us that they were making nothing. None of us believed this, and, without waiting to unpack their animals, two or three of our men rushed off up the ravine to secure claims. I asked to see the kind of gold they were getting, and was shown a pan in which were five or six specks about one fourth as large as the head of a pin. The man who had told me in Silver City, about the big strike, and who had induced me to join the expedition, said the men were fooling us; he was sure they had rich diggings. Taking the pan, this man got down into the hole that had been dug by the miners, and got a panful of the best-looking gravel he could find. Winking for me to follow, he started down the stream to a small pool. When we were out of hearing he said he thought the men were trying to “play us.” “They don’t want it known that there is anything here,” said he, “until their friends are all on hand to gobble up the ground. You can bet high that I’ll get a good prospect out of this pan of dirt. It looks like the right stuff.”

Meanwhile he was washing it down, stopping once in a while as he neared the bottom to flit the water over it in the expectation of seeing a “chispa” or a “nugget.” The less sand there was in the pan the longer grew his face. At last all was panned out, even to the last grain of “black sand,” and nought remained but the few little specks of gold (“colors”) originally in the pan.

“Skunked, by the holy spoons,” cried he. I then washed out the pan and filled it with earth out of a crevice—the best I could find—panned it down, and had three small colors.

We then went back to the camp of the miners who had dug the prospect-hole and asked how the story got started that they had found gold of the size of peas and were making from $10 to $20 per day. They knew nothing about it, but one of them finally recollected that when he went to Silver City for a rocker he had said to some one that from the number and shape of the “colors” they were finding on the surface he did not doubt they would find them as big as peas when they reached the bed-rock. Some one then remarked—‘If you do you’ll be able to make from $10 to $20 per day,’—from this grew the story of the rich strike in El Dorado Cañon. We all felt rather “cheap” when we heard this explanation, the perfect truthfulness of which we could not doubt. I have known many grand mining excitements that had even less foundation. Even this little “sport” did not end with our visit to the cañon.

After we had been at home a week, and when we supposed it was well understood that the diggings were too poor to pay, parties were still rushing thither. Presently the story crossed the Sierras, and the California papers said that, “in the El Dorado Cañon diggings, Nevada, miners are making from $20 to $40 per day with rockers; and the gold is of fine quality, being worth $17 per ounce.” Though our ardor was a good deal cooled by what we had learned in regard to the diggings, we were not altogether discouraged. The boys got their picks, pans and shovels, and dividing into small parties, struck out in various directions, up and down the cañon, and among the small ravines putting in from the hills; agreeing that wherever the best prospects were found, claims should be staked out for all. At night all hands returned, and nothing had been found that would pay—a few small colors was all that could be found, and they could be obtained almost everywhere. It was something like the present Black Hills mines. Lighting our camp-fire we baked our slap-jacks, fried our bacon, and made a glorious meal, after which pipes were lighted, and many stories told of the good old days of “49,” when the pockets of every honest miner overflowed with gold. When each man had spun his yarn it was time to think of sleep, and every man rolled himself in his blankets and stretched himself in the best and softest spot he could find, looking up at the stars in the ceiling of his bedroom until he fell asleep. At daylight we were astir, Pike was among the first up. Tom did not “unroll” till breakfast was almost ready. He then crawled out and proceeded to pull on his boots, taking a seat on a pack-saddle.

About this time I observed that Pike was closely watching Tom’s movements. Tom had got one boot on and his toes started in the other, when he stopped and yawned lazily. Rousing himself, he then drew his boot on with a “chuck.” His foot had hardly struck bottom before he gave a yell and turned deadly pale. Grasping his foot he tried to pull his boot off, but lost balance and rolled to the ground.

“Pull off my boot, quick, somebody! There is a scorpion in it!” cried Tom.

Pike managed to be the first to reach Tom, and catching him by the ankle began tugging desperately, dragging Tom here and there, with nothing but the top of his head touching the ground.

“Your foot is swelled, Tom, and this boot can’t be got off!” said Pike.

“Yes, it can,” cried Tom. “Pull, confound you, pull! He is stingin’ me all the time. Pull, Pike—confound you, pull! He’s stingin’ me to death!”

Pike gave several desperate plunges, lifting Tom clear of the ground each time; then stopped.

“I tell yer, Tom,” said he, “it ain’t no use; it’ll never come off, your foot is swelled so bad.”

“Cut it off then!” roared Tom, “cut it off, I can’t die this way!”

Pike drew his bowie-knife and had ripped the leg of Tom’s boot half way down when, thinking the joke had been carried far enough—for I was satisfied Pike had been playing a trick of some kind—I pushed Pike aside, and pulled the boot off at once. When the boot was off, behold! sticking to the bottom of Tom’s stocking, a small prickly pear.

On seeing the prickly pear, where there should have been a scorpion, all hands laughed, and all were pretty well satisfied that the trick was Pike’s, as a good deal of sport had been made of him in regard to his having been snake-bitten. To the surprise of all Tom neither raved nor swore—said not a word, in fact—but set quietly to work at extracting the spines which had penetrated his foot in fifty places. He then examined his boot, which was cut down almost to the heel, drew it on and took his seat in silence at the camp breakfast. This conduct on Tom’s part gave Pike great uneasiness, as all could see. At last he said:

“Who in thunder do you suppose put that air cussed par in your boot, Tom?”

“I suppose you know as much about it as anyone here,” said Tom.

“Me! good Lord I don’t purtend to know. I can’t account for it nohow, without one of them mountain rats might of done it.”

“Yes,” said Tom, dryly, “mountain rats are mighty fond of runnin’ about with prickly pears in their mouths, so we’ll say no more about it.”

Pike felt very uneasy about the matter. He didn’t like the way Tom was acting. After breakfast, when we were alone, he asked me if I didn’t think Tom would watch his opportunity and shoot him. When all had breakfasted it was concluded to scout out and prospect at a greater distance from camp than we had yet done. While some of us prospected the ravines others were to take the animals and go out into the hills to look for quartz ledges. Pike wished to go with the quartz-hunters, but had no animal to ride. To the surprise of all, and almost to the terror of Pike, Tom offered him his horse. Pike stammered his acceptance and turned away, looking very quiet. In passing off it fell out that Tom and myself were to prospect certain ravines. We dug a number of holes down to the bed-rock and washed and washed out many pans of earth, but a few small colors was all the gold we could find.

During the day Tom said:

“Do you know that was a villainous trick that Pike played me? To pretend, too, that he couldn’t get my boot off, when all the time he had hold about my ankle. Then to go and cut my boot!”

“But you told him to do that.”

“Yes, I know I did, for between you and me, I was awful scared. I thought I was gone in sure. I’d have bet my life on there being a scorpion in my boot.”

“Do you know that Pike thinks you intend to kill him?” said I.

“No. Is he such a fool as that?”

“You know men are killed in this country for more trifling things.”

“I don’t want to kill any man, but I do want to play even on Pike. It was mean on him to put that thing into my boot after we had shook hands down at the river.”

After a time Tom said: “Pike is a great coward and I’ll watch my chance and scare the life out of him before this trip is over.”

“So be it,” said I.

As we could find no gold we turned our attention to prospecting for the beauties of nature. In one place, standing high and dry at some distance from the cañon, we found a very handsome natural bridge or arch. It was about eighty feet high, with a span or opening thirty feet in width by fifty feet in height, and beautifully set off with turrets and spires which rose from the top of the arch. Near this natural arch we found a cave, but it proved to be of no great depth. From the remains of fires in it, it appeared to have been used by the Indians as a place of shelter.

After wandering about in the hills for some hours we started for camp, and as we neared it saw a great bustle there among the men. They had brought in all of the animals and were busily engaged in packing up. As soon as they saw us approaching they called to us to make haste. Pike came running towards us, and laying his hand alongside of his mouth, sang out in a hoarse whisper: “Injuns!”

“Injuns?” said we.

“Yes,” said Pike, “Injuns! Hills full of ’em! Hurry up, we’re goin’ to light out o’ here!”

The long and short of the story was that Pike and his partner had crossed the mountain into what was called Sullivan district, when they found all the miners packing up and leaving for Carson City, on account of Indians having been seen watching them from the rocks. One of our boys who was lying in the shade of a bushy cedar, with his boots off, cooling his feet, had also seen Indians and had rushed into camp. His story was that, as he was lying under the tree, eleven Indians, all in war-paint, and each armed with a minie musket and revolver, passed along a trail about five rods away. They were in single file and were going eastward at a dog-trot. Thus were the Indians running one way and the whites another—the opposite direction. On reaching camp we tried to prevent this stampede, telling the men that the Indians seen were merely a scouting party, and were probably then many miles away in the direction of Pyramid Lake, but several said they would bet any money that the redskins were even then watching us from the tops of some of the surrounding rocky hills. They could see rocks on the hills that looked like the heads of Indians, and by watching these some said they could see them move.

The miners whom we found on the cañon had pulled up stakes and left on the first alarm. After much talk, a majority of our party declared in favor of remaining on the cañon another day, but the minority owned the mules, and swore they were going to leave at once. They said they did not imagine the Indians would attack us, but they were tired of prospecting and were going down to Carson River to _fish_. Pike was very anxious to try his luck at fishing, and was ready to start at once for Chinatown to buy hooks and lines, if anyone would furnish him a horse.

After much talk, Tom came to me, and said: “Let us go down the cañon a few miles with these fellows, and then make them camp, where we can have a night-attack by the Indians, and scare Pike out of his wits.” This was agreed to, and off we all started. About sundown we reached an open, grassy spot calling a halt proposed to camp there. The minority would not hear of such a thing. Pike was the most determined of any, and was bound to go to the river. The joke of the night-attack had been whispered among our men, and they determined to keep Pike with us. One of them took him aside and told him that we had reason to believe that the Indians were lower down the cañon; that, in fact, they were lying in wait for us in the rocky hills about its mouth, and that all who went down that night would be killed.

“Good Lord!” cried Pike, “you don’t say so. Well, if that’s the case I’ll be dogoned if you ketch me goin’ down thataway!” But Pike presently had a doubt about this plan. Said he: “If we stop here won’t the cussed Injuns get tired of waitin’ and come up here after us?”

“Well,” said our man, “but you see we’ll let these fellows go that want to go so bad, and when the Injuns git them they’ll think they’ve got us all and so will be satisfied. However, it is almost too bad to let them go down there and be killed. I guess I’ll go and tell them where the Injuns are.”

“No, no!” cried Pike, “what are you about. If you tell them and stop them from goin’ down, thar won’t be no place safe! Don’t talk so loud or they may take the hint and not go.”

“Come, Pike,” called the fellows who were so anxious to go fishing, “if you intend to go with us, hurry up, or we’ll leave you!”

“Leave me and be dogoned to you!” cried Pike. “I’ve got a pistol now (a lie) and I’m goin’ to stay here and have some fun a fightin’ Injuns ’fore mornin’. Go along with you. I’m all right now!”

Pike’s friends were evidently amazed at this sudden exhibition of courage on his part. They whispered together for a time; then one of them said: “Gentlemen you may think that you are exhibiting bravery; but, gentlemen, it is not bravery, it is madness.” This earnest speech was greeted with a laugh from our side of the house, and the “fishermen” turned the mules into the trail and were soon out of sight.