Bonanza

Before making our entry into Mosquito Pass, which was a passage through the cliff, worn probably by water in prehistoric times, we tried to fan a volume of smoke ahead of us, but the effort was useless, as the strong wind poured it back into our faces. Lowering ourselves to bed-rock, we began the advance, the glow from our lanterns falling upon the saltpetre that coated the rocks, and lighting the mazy clouds of insects that were always busy about our faces. The sides of the tunnel, which was some forty feet in length, were smooth and very wet; a few stalactites pointed from the unseen roof; bunches of moss and some pink fungus spread over the stones; around our feet were numbers of big-eyed frogs, bloated and too indifferent to move. The passage curved sharply at the finish, and we were short of breath by the time we saw the light.

The inspector, my partner, Akshelah, and myself stepped out into the sunlight which poured over the seamed rocks. The troopers and Morrison had been left behind to keep guard and to work. The blue sky ahead floated in vapour, but the tunnel brought out among a wilderness of huge rocks, so that we could see nothing of the unknown land.

“Frightful hole!” said Hanafin, looking back. “Anyhow, a big smudge this end will clean out the mosquitos, because the wind will carry the smoke through from end to end.”

“Where in Jerusalem does the wind come from?” said the factor.

The precipice leaned over slightly, as it towered away some hundreds of feet above us.

“This wall is the wind-break of the country,” said the inspector. “All the currents from the north concentrate here, and are forced through the vent-holes, to make a single volume in the canyon.”

We climbed upward for another hundred yards, and then entered a channel, about three-eighths of a mile long, with a circular dip in the centre. From the dip we descended, the channel curving every few yards.

“Columnar basalt,” Hanafin observed, indicating the perpendicular sides. “The dark grain is magnetic iron. Here we have hornblende. When I have found mercury I shall be content.”

“Platinum?” queried MacCaskill, whose knowledge of mining was equal to mine.

“Platinum and gold lie together,” said Hanafin.

Then the channel made its last curve. Below us, unpromising and bare, and pent in on all sides by chains of strong mountains, spread out—

Bonanza!

I noticed a stronger flush upon Hanafin’s face. He was thinking of that somebody at home! The muscles down my partner’s neck swelled out. Two of our small party were excited; two were not. I thought I had never looked upon a more desolate tract of country.

Away to the south-west went a narrow lake of a dirty-grey colour. A stream flowed into this lake, and had shoaled a large part of it near its mouth. Before us a dreary succession of rounded hills rose and fell, all of the same height, shape, and appearance, very thinly covered with scraggy spruce and a little black poplar, with some white birch and pitch-pine. In a very few spots we found a couple of inches of loam under the moss, the sub-soil being invariably gravel, but the surface was more usually composed of rock, with sand intervening.

A wide river cut its curving channel between the dreary hills and its own flats of beach. We could see that this river was very shallow, because long bars of gravel or silt lifted along mid-stream, and the “ripple” betrayed other spots where the wash had just sufficient depth to pass. The stream was reddish in places, probably owing to a rock bottom of granite, where the gravel had been washed away.

“Bad for boats,” said MacCaskill.

“Chiefly gravel,” said Hanafin. “Sand-bars shift, and gravel doesn’t. What would you call the temperature of that water?”

MacCaskill looked puzzled. It was a warm day, well over seventy in the shade. He hazarded:

“Sixty-four.”

“I’ll say fifty-three,” said Hanafin; and when he came to take the temperature with a little spirit thermometer, he found he was only one degree out.

Not a bird was to be sighted, not even a creeping thing upon the ground. It was a land of silence, and desolation, and hidden treasure.

Hanafin pointed out a clear-cut channel, which ran back from the river between the hills, curving south-easterly, and meeting a similar channel, which branched off sharply, and ran back, bending out of sight.

“Will you name the creek to the left?” he said, looking at me; then, seeing my puzzled expression, he added: “Will you give your name to it?”

I suggested that he should have it, but Hanafin replied:

“No. I am more ambitious.”

“Petrie Creek!” exclaimed MacCaskill. “I’ll have the other creek and valley. Golden gates! MacCaskill Gulch! What?”

“Am I to have nothing?” said Akshelah.

“You shall have the river, my girl,” said Hanafin kindly.

The features of the landscape began to stand out as we crossed the hills.

“MacCaskill is a great creek,” said Hanafin, with a trace of excitement; and the old man between us grinned foolishly in the delight of having his name recorded geographically.

“I don’t know the first thing ’bout minin’,” he admitted. “I guess I can wash out dirt, but any galoot can do that. What’s that you’ve picked up?”

“Galena,” said the inspector. “Lead ore.” He began to punish it with his little hammer, and indicated a tiny white seam with the word, “Silver.”

MacCaskill snatched at it.

“Let’s feel. How much is it worth?”

“Possibly two-thirds of one cent,” said Hanafin drily, and the factor flung away the lump in disgust.

While we were walking towards the Akshelah, Hanafin began to reply at length to one of MacCaskill’s questions.

“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:—

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.