The Cave of Gold<br />A Tale of California in '49 by Everett McNeil (summer books txt) 📖

he glanced around the circle of faces, "it is understood that all that is said and seen here to-night is to be kept secret by all, whether or not the search for the Cave of Gold is made."

"Yes, yes!" cried Dill impatiently. "We're all in on it together and must not breathe a word about it to an outsider. We all understand that, don't we?"

All the heads around the table quickly nodded assent.

"Now, then, let us have that map and gold nugget," and he turned excitedly to Thure and Bud.

Thure at once thrust his hand under the bosom of his shirt and under his left shoulder and pulled out the miner's little buckskin bag. Then he opened the bag and pulled out the map.

"The skin map," he said, and, laying it down on the table, he swiftly turned the bag upside down and dumped the gold nugget down on top of it. "And here is the gold nugget."

For a moment no one moved; but all sat staring at the big yellow chunk of metal, shining ruddily in the light of the flickering candles, as it dropped from the bag and came to a rest on the skin map and lay there on the table in front of Thure.

"Gosh, that sart'in looks like th' real stuff!" and the big hand of Ham reached out and picked up the nugget and hefted it critically. "Solid gold!" he declared, his eyes shining. "Jest heft it, Con," and he passed the nugget to Conroyal. "Wal, I reckon you yunks have made good. Now, let's see what's on that thar piece of skin," and, picking up the map, he smoothed it out on the table and stared down on it, while as many heads as possible crowded close to his head and stared down on the map with him.

"John Stackpole, did anyone here ever hear of a feller by th' name of John Stackpole?" and Ham raised his head and glanced around.

"I know the man," declared Frank Holt, the father of Rex, whose snowy white hair gave him a patriarchal appearance. "I remember now. That's the name the fellow gave I saw in Coleman's store 'bout two weeks ago. He had a peculiar scar, shaped something like a horseshoe over one of his eyes."

"That's the man! You remember that queer-shaped scar over one of his eyes, don't you?" and Bud turned excitedly to Thure.

"Yes," answered Thure. "He must have just got back from the cave. What was he doing, Uncle Frank?" and he turned eagerly to Mr. Holt.

"Well, he certainly looked as if he had just come out of a cave," grinned Holt. "Clothes all in rags and dirty, and hair and beard all over his head, except his eyes and nose and mouth. But," and his face lighted up, "he seemed to have plenty of gold-dust; for, while I was standing there watching him curiously, he picked out a good suit of clothes and paid for them out of a bag heavy with gold, gold that was mostly small nuggets.

"'Struck it, pard,' and I saw Coleman's eyes glisten, as he gathered in them small nuggets, for the gold wasn't no Hangtown gold. Anybody with eyes could see that.

"'Just a pocket,' answered the man. 'But good and rich, for a pocket.'

"'Whereabouts might it be, if I ain't asking too much?' queried Coleman, who I could see was some excited over that bag full of little gold nuggets, as he placed the bundle of clothes down in front of the man.

"'Thank you,' answered the man gruffly, and, picking up the bundle, he hurried out of the store, considerably to the disappointment of Coleman.

"Now, I calculate, that must have been our man, for he certainly told Coleman that his name was John Stackpole, when he asked him if any message had been left there for him. I remember it all plain, because I got some excited over that bag full of little gold nuggets myself; but I didn't call to mind the name until Ham called it out."

For many minutes the map and the gold nugget were now passed from hand to hand and thoroughly examined by all, while the tongues of all wagged with excited comments and Thure and Bud were often called upon to repeat parts of their story. But, at length, Noel Conroyal, who had been elected President of the Never-Give-Up California Mining Company, into which our good friends, the Conroyals, the Randolphs, the Holts, and Hammer Jones, had organized themselves, stood up and pounded on the table with his big fist.

"The Never-Give-Up California Mining Company will come to order," he said, the moment the talking ceased; "for the purpose of considering the matter laid before it by Thure Conroyal and Bud Randolph and to determine what action, if any, shall be taken."

"Oh, cut out the big talk, dad, and just let's talk it over together," protested Dill a bit impatiently; for, when Mr. Conroyal assumed the office and the dignities of the President of the Never-Give-Up California Mining Company, he was apt to be a little formal and long-winded. "We don't need the formalities and they take up time."

"All right, if that is the wish of the company," agreed Mr. Conroyal good-naturedly. "I only wanted to get to doing something besides talking."

"I think," declared Ham, "that, now that we've heer'd th' story an' seen th' skin map an' th' gold nugget, we'd better sleep on it afore we decide anything, 'specially seein' that it's gittin' late, an' all on us, I reckon, are plumb tired; an' tharfore, I move that this here meetin' be adjourned 'til tew-morrer mornin', an' that all on us be ordered tew git intew our bunks an' go tew sleep."

Ham's suggestion sounded so sensible, for even the excitement could no longer keep their tired bodies and brains from calling out for rest and sleep, that it was adopted at once, with only a few feeble protests; and, in fifteen minutes from the time it was made the lights were out and all were in their bunks.

"Say, dad," queried Thure a bit mischievously, as he and Bud crawled under the blankets of one of the bunks, "do we have to start back for home at sun-up?"

"No, shut up and go to sleep," growled back Mr. Conroyal.

CHAPTER XVI UNEXPECTED COMPANY

The next morning everybody at the Headquarters of the Never-Give-Up California Mining Company was up an hour before the sun flashed its golden light over the tops of the eastern mountains and down on the log cabins and tents of Hangtown. All the workers in the mining-camps went to bed early, tired out with their hard day's work with pick and shovel, slept soundly, and arose early the next morning to begin another day of toil. Only the drones—the gamblers, the saloon-keepers, and their foolish patrons—burned the midnight oil, or, rather in this case, the midnight candle, for there was little oil to burn in these camps. Hence it was that when Thure and Bud hurried out of the house to wash their hands and faces in a near-by spring, they saw that they were far from being the only early risers, that the smoke was rising from the chimneys of nearly every log cabin in sight and that in front of nearly every tent glowed a camp-fire, around which the cooks already could be seen preparing breakfast.

"Well, this is great!" declared Bud, as he dashed the cool, refreshing water over his face. "I feel like a new man already. There must be something in this mountain air that gets into the blood and puts new life into a fellow. Say, but isn't this a beautiful sight, like—like a picture painted by a great artist!" and his eyes swept over the surrounding scene, now just becoming visible through the light of the early dawn.

"You are right, it is a beautiful scene," and Thure stood up and allowed his eyes to drink in, with all the enthusiasm of youth, the beauties of the scene; "but, I reckon, there is no artist that can paint a picture the equal of that," and he pointed to the distant tops of the eastern mountains. "It takes the brush of God to paint that kind of pictures!"

And Thure was right. No artist's skill could transfer to canvas the full glories of such a scene as now delighted the eyes of Thure and Bud.

The first rays of the morning's sun flamed upon the snow-covered tops of the mountains towering high above their heads to the eastward, while the mountainsides and valleys were still dark with the shadows of night; and everywhere the flaming light of morning struck the crystal-white of the snow on mountain top and pinnacle, that peak was crowned with a glorious halo that glowed, first with grayish violet lights, swiftly changing to crimson and rose, and from rose to gold, until, suddenly, the whole peak blazed forth in the glorious light of the full-risen sun. A vision for an artist to rhapsodize over; but for a God to paint!

"Bre'kfust! First an' last call tew bre'kfust!" yelled Ham from the open door of the house, just as the sun burst over the tops of the mountains.

"I feel as if I had just been to church," Thure said reverently, as the two boys started back to the house.

"So do I," agreed Bud. "Only no church or priest ever seem to bring God as close to a fellow as such a scene as that does. I don't see how anybody can live in the mountains and not believe in God."

As soon as breakfast was eaten, Mr. Conroyal arose.

"Now," he said, "that we have all had a night in which to think over the tale of the dead miner we had better get together and decide on what we had best do; and, as Dill suggested last night, we will first talk it over in an informal way. Now, what do you think about the truth of the miner's yarn? That, of course, is the first thing to settle; for there is no need of bothering with the matter at all, unless we feel quite sure that the miner really found a cave something like the one he described to Thure and Bud."

"Well, considering all things," and Frank Holt took the pipe he had lit and was puffing on out of his mouth and laid it down on the table, "and more especially considering the fact, that, when I saw him in Coleman's, he appeared to have just got in from a long prospecting spell in the mountains and to have plenty of gold along with him, and gold of a different kind than is found anywhere around here, I feel quite certain that Stackpole's yarn about finding that Cave of Gold comes pretty nigh to being true, nigh enough at least to be worth investigating."

"Them's my sentiments right down tew a T," declared Ham emphatically. "Whar thar's ben so much smoke, thar's sart'in tew be some fire. I'm in favor of makin' a hunt for th' Cave of Gold; but, afore doin' it, I'd like tew know how that thar wing dam project over in Holt's Gulch is promisin' tew pan out. If 'twon't take tew long, I'd like tew see that job finished afore we have a try for th' Cave of Gold. I reckon we've all put tew many backaches an' armaches intew that dam tew want tew see 'em wasted; an' thar might be a wagon load of gold thar, an', if thar is, we want tew be th' ones tew git it, after all our work."

"Right, Ham's right," asserted Mr. Randolph. "Now, supposing we all go down and have a look at that dam, and try to figure out just about how much longer it will take to finish it, before we decide anything definitely about the hunt for the Cave of Gold. I feel almost sure that we are going to strike it rich there, and I'd hate like sin to see any one else reap where we've sown so many backaches, as Ham says."

"I think Rad has it about right," declared Mr. Conroyal, "and, if there are no objections, we'll all go down to Holt's Gulch and have a look at the wing dam. I fancy it wouldn't please none of us much, after working as hard as we have, to see somebody else step into our boots there and reap a fortune, as like as not they'd do, if we deserted the dam now. I reckon it won't take more than a week to finish the dam; and then a few hours will show whether or not we've struck pay-dirt."

There were no objections made to this proposition, although Rex and Dill and Thure and Bud grumbled a little over the prospect of having the hunt for the