The treasure of Mushroom Rock

GLANCING at his companion, Percy, rather to his alarm, saw that Jack’s face was quite pale, his eyes wide open and staring, and that, though the day was cool, the perspiration was running down his cheeks. The fact was that Jack was taken with a brief but sharp attack of that curious disease known as “the gold fever.” To Percy the amount of gold in the pan was no more than he had expected; but Jack, on the other hand, was well aware that a spoonful of gold to one small pan of “dirt” was something extraordinary.

“Percy,” he burst out, in a high state of excitement, “this is tremendous! Perfectly tremendous! There is fifty times—a hundred times—as much gold in that pan as I expected to see. There must be a vein of extraordinary richness somewhere about here. We must set to work to find it.”

“I’m ready,” responded Percy, catching something of his companion’s excitement. “But how are we to set to work? I don’t know where to look for it, nor what to look for.”

“First of all,” replied Jack, “we’ll clean out all the pot-holes, and test them, one at a time, to see how they compare for richness with the first one. After that we’ll test the soil on both banks, and after that—well, after that we’ll see. Will you just go over to the camp and bring down the wash-pan, a tin plate, and another spoon, while I try to get rid of a little more of this black sand in the pan?”

Percy was soon on hand with the desired articles, when Jack set him to work scouring the plate and the wash-pan with sand in order to remove any particles of grease there might be adhering to them. This being done, the gold was turned into the plate, and the pair, each armed with a bent spoon, applied their labour to clearing out the next two pot-holes; depositing all the black sand in the wash-pan, and dabbing a clay ball over the bottom of each hole. Jack then proceeded to extract the gold from the clay balls, while Percy cleaned out hole number four. In this manner they worked their way down-stream until they had cleaned up fourteen holes, each one of which yielded more or less gold, though, as a rule, the quantity decreased as they descended. There were only three holes left, but by this time the supply of clay had given out, and Percy therefore went back to look for more. There was no more where they had found the original deposit, but a few steps away, still beneath the cap of the Mushroom Rock, he found another heap which he gathered up and carried back to the stream. This lot of clay, he observed, had a reddish tinge, whereas the other had been almost pure white; but though he noticed the fact he thought nothing of it, and set to work on the last three holes without delay.

To the surprise both of Jack and himself none of these three holes produced a scrap of gold—not a “colour.”

“That is curious,” remarked Jack. “But I suppose the first fourteen holes are so arranged in the bed of the creek as to intercept all the gold that comes down. Are you sure that you cleaned up the last three as thoroughly as you did the others?”

“I believe so,” replied Percy, “but I’ll do them over again and make sure.”

“One’s enough,” said Jack. “Do the first of the three.”

The result was the same, however. They got black sand, but not a speck of gold could they see, even with the aid of the magnifying-glass which Jack produced from his pocket.

“Well,” said he, “then I suppose that is all the gold we are going to get out of the creek, so let us go ahead and try the soil on the banks to see if the vein it comes from is on this side or that, or from the mountain which supplies the creek itself.”

Percy was about to assent to this proposal, when a sudden chill in the atmosphere caused them both to look up. The sun was going down.

“Why, just look at the sun!” Percy exclaimed. “I’d no idea it was so late.”

“Neither had I,” responded Jack. “We’ve been so busy that I forgot all about the time. Come, let us get back to camp.”

“Poor old Tom!” said my chum, remorsefully. “There he has been, perched up in his sentry-box all day, and not a scrap of dinner has he had. He’ll think we’ve forgotten him.”

“If he does, he’ll be right,” said Jack, laughing. “Poor old chap, though, I’m sorry. Here, Percy, I’ll carry the things; you run on and let him out.”

I did think they had forgotten me, I confess. All day long I had stood, or sat, at my post, with nothing to do but whistle and talk to Ulysses. Noontime came, but no dinner. Should I run down to the camp and get something to eat? No, I shouldn’t. I was here to keep watch, dinner or no dinner, and watch I would keep if I got none for a week. There was one way, I knew, by which I could make my companions come flying to my relief, namely, by firing my rifle; but that, I thought, would not be fair; it would alarm them unnecessarily. I remembered, besides, the fable of the shepherd boy who called “wolf” when there was no wolf. No; I must stick it out. And stick it out I did, though such a long, tedious day I never spent before.

But when Percy came running up the gully, and, clambering into the fort, with one breath apologized for forgetting me, and in the next told me how it happened, I forgave them. And when, going down to the camp, I saw the little heap of gold in the tin plate, I forgave them still more. I did not wonder that they had forgotten me for I should certainly have done the same by them.

“What do you suppose it is worth, Jack?” I asked, as I stirred up the wet and shining heap with my finger. “Thirty or forty dollars?”

Jack laughed. “Three or four hundred is nearer the mark, I expect,” said he. “Just lift it.”

The tin plate was standing in the gold-pan, and when I went to take it up I thought for the moment they must be stuck together; it was so much heavier than I had anticipated.

“Why,” said I, “it must weigh two pounds.”

“Just about,” replied Jack; “tin plate, black sand, and all; and so I make a guess that the gold is worth four hundred dollars or so, reckoning gold at eighteen dollars the Troy ounce, as they do here.”

It seemed impossible; such a little heap.

“But, Jack,” said I, as the discomforting thought suddenly occurred to me, “suppose it should not be gold at all. How do you know it isn’t copper?”

“Oh, there’s no mistaking gold when you’ve once seen it,” replied Jack. “This stuff is gold, all right; I have no doubt about it at all. But still, if you like, I’ll test it and make certain, just to set your mind at rest, and to satisfy you that we haven’t put in ten hours’ hard labour to-day on a wild-goose chase.”

Stepping over to the baggage, Jack hunted out an old cigar-box in which were a tiny porcelain cup and a little glass-stoppered bottle, the latter containing nitric acid. Pouring a little of the acid into the cup, Jack dropped a scrap of the gold into it, and raking some hot ashes from the fire he set the cup upon them. Soon the acid began to simmer, and for five minutes it continued to do so, without, however, producing the slightest effect upon the metal; nor did the liquid itself change colour.

“It is gold, all right,” said Jack, removing the cup. “Now, I’ll just show you what would have happened if it had been copper.”

With his knife he cut a shaving from a copper rivet, dropped the fragment into the cup, and replaced the cup upon the ashes. In an instant the acid attacked the copper, and pretty soon it had eaten it all up, turning itself a beautiful green colour in the process.

“You see,” said Jack, “the copper can’t stand against this powerful acid, whereas the gold doesn’t care a rap for it. Gold will hold its own against any single acid; you must make a mixture of two of them before you can dissolve ‘the royal metal,’ as it is called. So that question is settled. We have found gold, without doubt. The next thing to find is the place it came from.”

Until bedtime that evening we sat together in the sentry-box talking over our find and arranging the programme for the morrow, and next morning, Percy, whose turn it was to go on guard, went off up the gully,—wisely taking his dinner with him,—while I accompanied Jack down to the creek.

Above the Mushroom Rock the bed of the stream was cumbered with boulders fallen from the mountain, but in between them were many crevices and hollows containing more or less sand and small gravel. These little depositories we examined carefully, picking up the residue by means of the red clay, of which we had a good supply left over from the day before, but in none of them was there so much as a colour of gold. At length we had worked up close to the circular basin which the stream, falling from the cliff above, had worn in its hard stone bed, and there, just below the basin, we found a natural “riffle,” as Jack called it; a little ledge two inches high running across the stream, with an accumulation of sand on its upper side.

This sand Jack proceeded to clear out with his spoon, but as we had again used up our stock of clay, he sent me back to the old place to look for more. There was very little left, but I managed to collect a double handful, including a small amount of the white material which I scraped up with my knife, and carrying it back to the scene of operations I handed it over to my chief. This time we did find gold, a small amount, certainly, but enough to convince Jack of what he had suspected all along, namely, that the vein was somewhere upon the mountain above the wall.

“We shall have to make a ladder,” said he, “and set it up on top of the bank there in order to get up the wall; a ladder twenty feet long will do, I think. But before we do so we will test the soil on both banks of the creek to make sure that the gold did come from up-stream, and not from the mountain on either side.”

As we fully expected, our tests of the soil, and we made many of them, were unproductive; the vein, we felt certain, was somewhere on the mountain in which the stream had its source.

With that belief impressed upon our minds we turned to, forthwith, to build a ladder. Carrying a couple of long poles to the highest point of the bank, and setting them against the wall, we next cut into strips the elk-hide which had once served as a door to the cabin, and with the thongs bound cross-pieces to the uprights every two feet of their length, making by these means a rough but serviceable ladder.

Though by this time it was getting on towards sunset, we scrambled up to the top of the wall to make a brief survey of the country we proposed to prospect; and a tremendous task, it seemed to me, we had set ourselves. Dozens of gullies, big and little, wide and narrow, straight and crooked, led down to the creek, in any one of which, and in any part of any one of which, the vein might lie concealed; a vein perhaps no wider than one’s hand. It looked to me very much like a hopeless task. Jack, however, did not seem to be disconcerted by the outlook.

“We’ll begin to-morrow,” said he, “and take these gullies one at a time and search them thoroughly. It is my belief that the vein is composed of some soft material which washes away easily, and that we shall find it, when we do find it, in some deep crevice; for, as you will have noticed, all the gold we have washed out yet has been entirely free of any quartz or other rock, or of vein-matter of any kind—rather unfortunately, for we have no sample of the rock to go by. As it is, we shall have to bring down specimens of any veins we may find, grind them up between two stones, and wash them like any other gravel.”

“It seems to me, Jack,” said I, “that it might take us a year to go over all the country that drains into this creek; there is so much of it.”

“I hope not,” replied Jack, “because we can’t give it more than a month at most. It will be high time for you fellows to be going home; and what is more, at this altitude we are likely to have a snow-storm any day, which would cover up the country and stop our prospecting anyhow. Let us go back to camp now. To-morrow, while you are on guard, Percy shall go and bring in a deer, so that we may have a good supply of meat on hand, and I will come up here and make a preliminary survey, in order that we may get to work in a systematic, businesslike manner.”

This plan was duly followed out, and for twenty days thereafter Percy and I, taking it turn about, accompanied Jack up the mountain, tramping up and down all day long, prying into all its cracks and crannies, and bringing back every night one or more samples of rock for the sentinel of next day to grind up between two stones. And a blessing it was to the sentinel to have such an occupation to fill up the time; for, as it was not necessary that he should keep his eye glued to the loophole without intermission, he had a large amount of spare time on his hands.

But of all the dozens of samples we ground up not one showed so much as a trace of gold. It was very disheartening. To Jack, especially, it was a great disappointment. After our astonishing find in the pot-holes his hopes had been so high; he had felt so sure that before next spring the mine at Golconda would be going again, full blast; he was so full of plans for the future, when he and his father and mother and sister would be all living there together, that his disappointment at our non-success was all the more keen. And now our time was almost up. The threatening weather warned us that we must prepare to leave; and not a vestige of a gold-vein had we found for all our searching. Poor old Jack! He became more and more gloomy as the days went by; and what with the hard work and the shortened allowance of sleep—for he always took his share of night-watching—he was beginning to look quite gaunt and careworn. Percy and I had less cause for worry and more time for rest, but the work was beginning to tell upon us too. It was hard enough in any case, tramping over the rocks at the heels of a leader so eager and energetic as Jack, but the loss of one-third of one’s natural sleep made it almost unbearable. Day after day we became more and more tired; the tiredness seemed to accumulate, it became chronic; we dragged our feet after us as we walked; and as to running, nothing less than a ramping, raging grizzly bear could have induced us to run a step.

It was a good thing we had those samples of rock to grind up in the daytime, or, I fear, without that occupation for mind and body there would have been a very good chance of the sentinel being caught napping, had there been anybody to catch him—which apparently there was not;—for, all this time, we had seen no sign of Squeaky, and we had come to the conclusion that he must have been scared out of the neighbourhood altogether.

It was after supper on the evening of the twenty-first day of our stay in the valley that Jack came to the sentry-box where Percy and I were sitting over a little fire discussing our prospects, and after standing thoughtfully warming his hands for a few minutes, he said, evidently with much reluctance:

“Well, you fellows, the jig’s up. We must go. We’re all pretty well worn out; and what’s more, there is a snow-storm brewing; and a heavy snow might make it difficult to get out of the valley. We’ll put in one more day here, and the next morning we’ll pack up and get out. I hate to give up, but there’s nothing else for it that I see. We must go.”

“But look here, Jack,” said Percy. “It seems a pity to give up until we are obliged to do so. Let us take a day off to-morrow and rest up. And I believe we might leave off mounting guard at night if we all three were to sleep here in the fort; Ulysses would never let anyone come near us. Then we shouldn’t feel so desperately tired all the time, and we could go on with our prospecting until it does snow.”

“That seems to me to be a pretty good idea,” I put in. “And if it clouds up so that we feel sure that it is going to snow, why, then, we’ll clear out at once. I vote that we don’t give in till we must.”

“You may be sure,” said Jack, “that I don’t want to give in any more than you do; but I’m afraid it is going to snow very soon, and if it does, that will be the end of our prospecting, for the ground won’t be clear again till next spring. You have noticed, perhaps, how the wind has been blowing from the south for the last two or three days; well, it has chopped round to the north since supper, and that means snow before long, I expect. In fact, I would get out to-morrow, but that there are still two gullies I am anxious to inspect before we go. Percy and I will each take one of them, and if we make an early start we can give them a pretty thorough going over before dark. Then, whether we find anything or not, I think we must pack up and leave next morning. I’m really afraid of being caught down here by a snow-storm.”

“We ought to have some meat for the journey,” remarked Percy, who, as cook, took charge of such matters; “there is hardly enough left for three meals. How are we going to get it, if Tom is on guard, and I go with you up on the mountain?”

“We’ll manage it this way,” replied Jack, after a moment’s hesitation. “You shall take the smaller of the two gullies to-morrow, Percy, and whether you have time to go over it all or not, you shall come back here about the middle of the afternoon and go down to the lower end of the valley and get us a deer; there are always deer to be seen down there, and you ought to be able to get one before night.”

“Very well,” responded Percy. “I’ll do so. We must have meat for the journey.”

“Yes. Three days’ supply, at least. It will probably take us that length of time to get to Bozeman.”

According to this arrangement the pair set off at daylight next morning, while I remained on guard in the sentry-box. The day passed uneventfully, as usual, until about half-past four in the afternoon, when Percy looked in upon me on his way down the valley, and having handed me one sample of rock to grind, walked off again, his rifle over his shoulder.

A quarter of a hour later, perhaps, I heard a shot. Ulysses, who was lying stretched out beside me, cocked up one ear, but otherwise took no notice. The next moment, however, to my great astonishment, he sprang up, leaped out of the fort, and ran, helter-skelter, out of the gully.

I dropped my grinding-stone, seized my rifle, and sprang to the loophole. There was nothing to be seen there. What, then, was the matter with Ulysses? He must have heard something that I had not; something to alarm him, too, or he would not have thus deserted his post,—for the old dog, I believe, knew just as well as I did that he was on guard.

I jumped down from the shelf and ran to the mouth of the gully, where I stood still to listen. I could hear nothing; but, fearing that Percy might be in need of help, I ventured to run on until I had passed through the fringe of trees which interrupted my view of the valley-bottom.

There, the first thing I saw was our herd of animals. They were close to the camp, each one standing with his head held high and his ears pointed forward, snorting and gazing down the valley. I looked in the same direction, and, instantly, I, too, forgot that I was on guard. I, too, deserted my post, and raced off down the valley.

About half a mile away, and on the far side of the stream, was Percy, running, as never mortal boy ran before I should think, in my direction. Close behind him, in full chase, was a bear—an immense beast. It looked to me to be about the size of a full-grown steer, though not so tall. Between Percy and me—but a good deal nearer to him than to me—was Ulysses, going like a mad creature to the rescue.

I had not cleared half the distance between us when the conditions of the chase were suddenly altered. The bear had come so close to Percy that the fugitive, fearing to be caught the next moment, doubled like a hare and ran back again towards the trees. The ponderous pursuer, unable to check himself so quickly, ran on for several yards, but then, doubling also, he was about to resume the chase in this new direction when Ulysses, leaping the creek, and rushing up the opposite slope, darted in like a flash and seized him by the hind leg. The enraged beast whirled about and made a slap at Ulysses that would have torn the dog in two had it taken effect. But our old friend was cunning as well as brave. He let go and jumped away; and then the two stood, their noses about six feet apart, eying each other like two gladiators; the bear growling and showing all his formidable teeth, and Ulysses going “G-rrr, g-rrr, n-yam, n-yam, n-yam,” as a dog does when he sees through the parlour window another dog come into the front yard and scratch up the grass as if it belonged to him.

This diversion, as I believe, saved Percy’s life. It gave him time to reach a tree, up which he went like a demented squirrel.

Meanwhile I had come within fair range of the bear, and kneeling down I took careful aim and fired. That my bullet struck the beast was evident, for he roared with anger, and then, with an activity surprising in so unwieldy an animal, he sprang at Ulysses. Ulysses, however, knowing that in this case discretion was very much the better part of valour, nimbly got out of the way, upon which the bear turned short round and came charging at me.

My! How I did run! Nobody knows his own capabilities as a foot-racer until he has undergone the experience of running away from a wrathful bear, whose firm-set determination it is to tear him to pieces if he can catch him.

Though Ulysses, the moment the bear turned his back, seized him again by the leg, the big beast took no notice of him. Strong as a bull, he dragged the dog after him with ease, and even with that incumbrance hampering his movements he gained upon me at every stride. Fortunately, having a good start, I succeeded in reaching the trees while the pursuer was yet some distance behind; seeing which, the bear gave up the chase and stopped again to slap at Ulysses.

I had dropped my rifle, as had Percy, also, I found; so, there we were, on opposite sides of the little valley, each perched in a tree, with a vengeful bear keeping strict watch and ward over us. I wondered how long we should have to stay there; and I wondered also whether Jack would presently come to our rescue. From the positions of the two trees we occupied neither of us could see up the valley, and for the same reason Jack would not be able to see us. He might, however, observe Ulysses and the bear out in the open; though not unless he came pretty soon, for the clouds were heavy that evening, and it was already growing dark.

Two or three times both Percy and I made attempts to recover our rifles, but our watchful antagonist would not permit it, each time driving us back in haste to our places of refuge. The time wore on, and the darkness rapidly increased, but at length, when it had become so dark that I could no longer distinguish with certainty between the dog and the bear, I saw through the branches of the trees a sudden flash of fire, followed by the report of a rifle. Next I heard the joyful barking of Ulysses, and directly afterwards the sound of Jack’s voice calling to Percy. Down I scrambled from my tree, and running to the spot whence the voice came, I found Jack standing over the body of the bear, while Percy had just arrived from the opposite direction.

“Hallo, Tom!” exclaimed our captain in surprise. “You here too?”

“Yes,” said I, remembering for the first time that I was supposed to be acting sentry. “I was obliged to come. I quite forgot, I confess, that I was on guard, but I have no doubt I should have come just the same if I had remembered. I had no time to think, as it happened, but all the thinking in the world would have made no difference; I should have come just the same.”

I then related to Jack the circumstances of the case, upon which, to my relief, he remarked:

“I see. Yes, of course. You were quite right. You couldn’t do anything else. I should certainly have done the same, even if I had known that Squeaky was likely to be down on us in the next five minutes. Oh, yes; you were perfectly right. I think, though, you had better find your rifle and go back now. Percy and I will follow as soon as we have cut out one of the bear’s hams.”

It was a long time before I could find my rifle, even with Percy’s help, and in consequence, when I did at length get back to the fort, it was so dark in the narrow cañon that I could not see my hand before my face. However, I knew my way into the sentry-box well enough, and there I took up my station again until, an hour or so later, Percy came up to relieve me.

After I had had my supper, Jack and I carried all our blankets up to the fort; for it was our intention to sleep there that night. We had had a hard day and were very tired, and as we expected another day as hard on the morrow we had decided to go without a sentinel for that one night, trusting to the ever-watchful Ulysses to give us notice if anyone should approach the bars.

For half an hour we sat about the little fire we had built inside the fort, while Percy related to us how he had accidentally stumbled upon the bear that day, and how the bear had charged upon him without provocation—a very unusual thing. After which Jack explained his part of the affair, telling us how, when he returned to camp, he had espied Ulysses and the bear standing in the midst of the valley, and how, guessing that Percy must be in trouble, he had run to help him,—never thinking that he should find me there as well.

“You must have been in a pretty awkward position, Percy, about the time Ulysses arrived,” said he.

“I was,” Percy responded. “I was badly scared, I can tell you. Ulysses, old chap,” putting his arm around the dog, who was sitting with his chin in the air, blinking at the fire, “whenever I get my share of that gold we can’t find, you shall have a medal. Just you remember, now.”

“I’m afraid he’ll have to go without his medal, then,” said Jack; “because we must get out of here to-morrow as early as possible. I don’t like the look of things. I’m rather afraid the snow may catch us down here. Come, let us turn in; we shall want all the sleep we can get.”

It was still pitch-dark when Jack’s voice roused us next morning.

“Tumble up, you fellows, tumble up!” he cried. “No time to waste! Snow in the air! We must dig out at once!”

He was right about there being no time to waste. Already the snow, fluttering into the fort, was covering our beds with ominous rapidity, and, to our dismay, when we jumped down from the ledge we felt—for we could not see—that the ground was carpeted with snow a foot thick, while the continuous pattering upon our hands and faces proclaimed only too plainly that the storm we had feared was upon us in earnest.

As it would be useless to attempt to find the horses in the dark, we set about the difficult task of getting breakfast first; nor was it until we had finished that meal that there was daylight enough to enable us to see clearly how hard it was snowing. Jack was alarmed.

“Percy,” he exclaimed, “run at once to the fort, bring down the blankets, and then put the packs together. Tom, take a turn up the valley and look for the horses. I will go down-stream. If you find them, fire your rifle. I will do the same. Hurry!”

Away we all went, in three different directions; but Jack and I had not gone far ere we heard the report of a rifle in the direction of the cañon. Back we hurried at once, to meet Percy coming down to the camp at a run. His face was pale, and he was so out of breath, more from agitation seemingly than from exertion, that he could not speak.

“What’s the matter?” cried Jack, sharply, feeling a vague alarm at the sight of Percy’s troubled countenance. “Anything wrong?”

“The horses are stolen!” he gasped.

Most boys who have played through a football season will remember the sensation of being knocked over backwards by one of his opponents taking him “in the wind” with the point of his shoulder. It was some such sensation that Percy’s announcement produced upon us. It did not knock us over, but it deprived us for the moment of the power of speech. Only for a moment, however.

“How do you know?” asked Jack, as soon as he had recovered from the first shock of this staggering news.

“The bars are down, and the dead trees are all pulled to one side,” replied Percy. “They must have done it yesterday when Tom and I were down the valley; and we didn’t notice it because of the darkness. What’s to be done, Jack?”

“Done?” cried our leader. “Clap some bread and meat into our pockets, and follow at once. I don’t suppose we can overtake them, but we must get out of this place as fast as we can; the snow is coming down harder than ever.”

Without more words we set off, and having toiled up the steep, snow-cumbered cañon and waded waist-deep through the tunnel, we carefully descended the water-slope and turned into the dry gorge. But no sooner had we turned the corner than we stopped short, with an exclamation of dismay; for a new misfortune, and one even more serious than the loss of our horses, had overtaken us. The great wedge-shaped rock had fallen, or had been upset, from above. The gorge was blocked. We could not get out!