Lone Pine: The Story of a Lost Mine

  CHAPTER VIII

  CHILDREN OF THE SUN

  They looked at the seed corn, and the American complimented DonNepomuceno on his enterprise as an improving farmer.

  "Why don't you take to the business yourself?" said the Mexican, as herelocked the door behind them. "You have money and you have a pair ofgood mules. You could buy land and work-oxen and hire peons. You wouldmake your living at it easier than at the mining. How long have you beena miner?"

  "Ten years, on and off," answered the other. "It is a good slice out ofone's life, I admit"; there was a certain wistfulness in his tone. Hewas beginning to think that perhaps he had missed a good deal ofhappiness in his time.

  "Ten years of wandering!" exclaimed the Mexican. "_Ay de mi_, but youmust be tired. Why should you want to go back to Colorado and begin itall over again?"

  "Well, for one thing," answered the other, "I've just heard from an oldpard of mine up there, and I think from the way he talks he's got holdof a good thing. I'm going to see."

  "And you'll go all that journey just to see!" said the other. "You trusthim? You think he's a good man?"

  "Well, I don't know so much about that," admitted Stephens. "Truth totell, the last time I saw him we had considerable of a difference ofopinion; in fact we split, and we reckoned to stay split. You see, hebusted me up as we call it, ruined me, that is; only I had the luck tosort of pull myself round. But that happened two years ago; all the sameI don't say that I want him for a pard again, though he must have prettywell straightened himself out, the way he talks; but still, you bet, I'dlike mighty well to shake hands with him, right now."

  "And he ruined you?" exclaimed the Mexican.

  "Busted me wide open. Left me flat broke," said the American.

  "How did it all happen?" asked the other. "Tell us all about it; we haveheard some of your adventures, but not this. Come into the sitting-roomhere and let us have it."

  "Well, if it won't bore you, you're welcome," said Stephens, followinghis host and preparing to refill his pipe.

  "Ah, you must smoke when you talk, I know," said Sanchez, "and you wishto smoke your own American tobacco, for you do not like the flavour ofour New Mexican _punche_ in your pipe. Ho, a light here, Pedrito! quick,bring a live coal for the senor."

  Pedrito, a small son of the peon, came running from the kitchen with alive coal in a piece of hoop iron, which he offered to Stephens, pullingoff his cap and standing bareheaded before the honoured guest, withold-world courtesy. Manuelita knew very well what was up, and fixedherself down to listen just by the door, where she could hear everyword. Stephens settled himself down comfortably on the divan, and began.

  "I picked up with this partner, who has just written me this letter,Rockyfeller his name is, when I was up in Idaho. We took to each otherkind of natural-like, and he and I pulled together as amiably as a spanof old wheel-horses for a goodish bit. We were quite different sort ofmen, too, in ourselves; but somehow that seemed to make it all theeasier for us to get along. We worked in the mines all that winter, andwhen spring came we had enough saved to rig out a real A1 prospectingoutfit. Rocky--that's what I called him--used to spree a bit every oncein a while, but nothing really to hurt, you know. He could pull upshort, which is more than most men who go on the spree have sense to do.His sprees didn't prevent our saving over four hundred dollars. Then webought two cayuses to ride--cayuses is the name they give to thosebroncho horses up that way,--and a good pack-mule and plenty of grub andblankets. We put in the whole of that summer prospecting off in theCoeur d'Alene country, and we staked out a lot of claims on differentlodes, and we put in a good bit of work on some of 'em so as to hold 'emfor the year. Well, come fall, we hadn't been able to sell any one ofour claims, and we hadn't taken out any high-grade ore that would payfor packing over the mountains to any reduction works, and there wewere, short of cash. So we cleared from that Coeur d'Alene country atlast. It was too far from a railroad. We sold our claims for what wecould get, and that wasn't much, and we lit out for Montana, and therethat next summer we just did everlastingly prospect over some of theroughest country I ever ran across. The Indians were powerful bad too,to say nothing of the road-agents. But we struck it at last pretty richon a lode that we called 'The Last Lap'--that's the last round, youknow, that the horses make on a race-track. I'd spent eight mortal yearschasing my tail all round the Pacific slope looking for a good lode, andhere it was, after all, across on the head-waters of the Missouri inMontana. We knew we'd got a good thing. The ledge was three to five feetthick, with a nice, uniform lot of high-grade ore, and a special streakthat would assay up to five hundred dollars a ton. I never saw a nicerlode. The only thing was, it was a plaguy long way from any quartz millfor the free ore, and it was a plaguy sight farther to the onlyreduction works that could handle the richest portions of it. Of coursewhat the mine wanted was a smelter of its own, right on the spot, butthat's what got us. We hadn't the capital to start it. It wanted atleast fifty or a hundred thousand dollars laid out before we could hopeto get back a cent. That mine was worth a million, if we'd had it inCalifornia, but off there, five or six hundred miles from a railroad,owned by us two prospectors who'd just about got to the end of ourtether, it was too big a thing for us to handle. Well, we did what workwe could on it. We sunk a shaft and ran a bit of a drift, and we wentinto Helena and we offered a share in it to a few capitalists we thoughtwe could trust. None of 'em would even look at it. At last we ran on toColonel Starr,--old Beebee Starr; likely you never heard of him, butthey knew him well enough up there,--and he rode out with us to see it;and he tumbled to it, too, as soon as ever he'd grubbed out a fewspecimens with his own pick and had 'em assayed. Well, he wouldn't takea half-interest and find the money to develop the mine, which was whatwe wanted him to do, and we were stony-broke by that time except for ourcayuses and our camp outfit, and winter a-coming on; and the long andshort of it was that we gave Colonel Starr a quitclaim deed to our wholeinterest in the Last Lap Lode for twelve thousand five hundred dollarsin greenbacks, paid down on the nail. The Last Lap has paid more thanthat much in a month in dividends since then, but that's common enough;that's how things do pan out; but I don't believe in whining over myluck, never did. And I'd been waiting eight years for a look in, and Ididn't despise getting my half of the twelve thousand five hundreddollars, if the Last Lap was worth a million.

  "So we sold the best quartz mine in Montana, and that's where Rocky andI split. We got the money from Colonel Starr in greenbacks, and it was aroll as thick as my arm. And Rocky pouched it all, for I had to go outto a cabin three miles out of town to see another old pard of mine whohad been crushed by a fall of rock and was dying. I know I ought neverto have left Rocky with that money on him; but what was I to do? It waslate in the day; I had to go; I couldn't take it along with me, for aman was liable in those days to be held up anywhere round the outskirtsof town by those cursed road-agents. Rocky had kept plumb straight forover a year. I trusted him, and I went. I got back to our hotel thatnight about ten o'clock, and a man says to me, 'D'you know where yourpard Rocky's gone?'

  "'No,' says I, 'aint he here?'

  "'Not much,' says he; 'he's at Frenchy's, bucking agi'n' the tiger.'

  "My heart felt like a lump of ice. I just turned right around and walkedacross the road to where this Frenchy kept a faro bank, and went in.There was Rocky, about half drunk, sitting at the table, with aboutthree little chips on the cloth before him. I went up and put my hand onRocky's shoulder and looked on. The dealer turned up the jack, I thinkit was, and raked in Rocky's stake. Rocky turns his head and looks up atme with a ghastly grin. 'Is that you?' says he; 'Jack, you'd orter hevcome before. I've had a devil of a run of bad luck; I'm cleaned out.'

  "'In God's name,' says I, 'is that so?'

  "'You bet,' says he.

  "I felt as if my eyes were two big burning holes in my head. 'Godforgive you, Rocky,' says I, 'for playing the giddy goat, and me forleaving you alone for one night in Helena, Montana. Come on out of thisnow
, Rocky, and I'll divide my share with you. I never went back on apard.'

  "Then the big blow came. 'Your share?' says he; 'why it's all gone. It'sall gone, every dollar of it, and them chips you saw me lose was the endof the Last Lap Lode.' I heard some bummer behind me give a laugh, oneof those whiskey-soaking galoots that think it funny to see the next mancleaned out.

  "I felt a queer lump in my throat, and I says to the banker, verysolemn, 'Mr. Frenchy, this gentleman here,' I was holding my hand onRocky, 'he's my pardner, and I must beg you to take notice that halfwhat you've won off him is my property that he had charge of.'

  "'That's no use, young man,' says the banker to me. 'We play for keepsin this house, and so you'll find it.'

  "'We'll see about that,' says I. 'Now, Rocky, tell me, is the whole ofthe Last Lap gone, the whole of the twelve thousand five hundreddollars?'

  "'Every last cent,' says Rocky. I could see by his looks that he feltpowerful mean.

  "'Then, mister,' says I to the banker--I was determined to be deadlycivil--'six thousand two hundred and fifty dollars of what you've tookfrom this gentleman belongs to me.'

  "'You're interfering with the progress of the game,' says he; 'and say,look here, you don't need to make that remark of yours here again.That's entirely a matter between you and your pard; it's none of mybusiness, but if you want any advice of me, it is that you take himoutside and settle it with him.'

  "He had his gang around him, and I saw that they had the deadwood on me,and the other players wanted to go ahead with their game. I was astranger from the mountains, dead-broke, with no backing, and I feltthere was no show for me in that shebang. I didn't open my mouth, but Iset myself to get Rocky home, first thing. I had pretty near to drag himthere. When I got him on the street the whiskey he'd drunk went into hishead, and he was like a madman. He wanted to fight me, actually he did,till I got his gun away from him. He hit me, yes, he struck me with hisfist, till I had to pinion him; luckily I was the stronger man of thetwo. I got him back to our room at last, and got him to bed. He justlaid there on his bed like a log and snored. And I laid over there onmine and cursed. I lay awake all that night thinking. I'd been a brotherto Rocky; I'd saved him time and again before that night; and now he'dbeen and given me clean away,--lost me the only good stake I'd ever hadin eight years.

  "I was sick. I didn't know what to do. We hadn't even money to pay ourlivery-stable and hotel bill. We'd put up at a first-class hotel whenwe made our bargain with Colonel Starr, reckoning to pay our account outof the proceeds of the Last Lap. Now, by selling our cayuses we'd hardlycover it; so that here we were, fairly busted, afoot, stony-broke, andwinter coming on. Sick was no name for what I felt. It was all to beginover again, and I was eight years older than when I started out atprospecting. You bet I felt old that night. Morning came, and I couldn'teat any breakfast. Rocky was snoring still. I belted on my six-shooter,stepped over to Frenchy's, and asked for the proprietor. They told me hewasn't up. It was a tony gambling-house, you know, quite a 'way-up' sortof place. I sat down and said I could wait. At last they told me he'dsee me. I was shown up into a room. He was there, spick and span, in abiled shirt and diamond pin, and all that.

  "'Sit down,' says he.

  "'Thank you,' said I, 'I can stand. I prefer it.' There was a tablebetween us.

  "'Let me warn you,' says he, 'at once, that this room is loopholed, andthat you are now covered with a double-barrelled shot-gun, loaded withsixteen buckshot in both barrels, at about ten feet off. If you make amove towards that six-shooter you've brought you'll be filled so full oflead that your hide wouldn't hold shucks.'

  "'All right,' said I, 'I expected as much. I didn't bring thissix-shooter to argue with you.'

  "He kind of laughed at that. 'Then what the h----l did you bring ithere for?' says he.

  "'To protect myself on the street,' says I; 'to protect myself fromfootpads as I go back to my hotel with my money.'

  "'What money's that you're talking about?' says he.

  "'My money,' says I, 'that you've won off my pardner last night, sixthousand two hundred and fifty dollars in greenbacks. That'll needprotecting.'

  "He gave a kind of a grin. 'It's protected by them thirty-two buckshotat the present moment,' he says, 'and I guess they're good enough toguarantee it.'

  "'I'm not denying it,' says I. 'I've come here, as a gentleman, toappeal to you as a gentleman, to restore me my money that my pardner'swrongly handed over to you.'

  "He looked amused. 'I notice you don't speak as if you upheld the gamewasn't square,--as if he'd been robbed of it here,' says he.

  "'I don't know nothing at all about that,' says I. 'I don't gamblemyself, but I don't doubt your game's a square game enough, as thingsgo. People say it is. I don't complain of the game; that's Rocky'sbusiness, if it's anybody's. It's my money that I'm talking about,whether it was a skin game that he lost it over or not. It's thosegreenbacks that Colonel Starr paid me that I'm here for.'

  "Then he fairly laughed out. 'Why, you galoot,' says he, 'you talk likea tenderfoot, yet you've been around this Western country long enough tocut your eye-teeth. When did you ever hear of a professional gamblergiving up the stakes after he'd won 'em?'

  "'I don't know as I ever did,' says I; 'but if not, here's the place forit to begin to happen, right here and now. I tell you I've got to havethat money. I tell you I'm tired. I've prospected in every range ofmountains there is in three Territories to find that Last Lap Lode.I've been eight years sweating and starving and freezing and wrastlinground. Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I got my stake, andI've got to have it. I tell you again I'm tired. I won't go through itall again for nothing. I'm either going out of this room with my moneyin my pocket, or I'm going out of it feet first, with a hole in my headyou could put your fist through. I don't threaten nobody, but I'll havemy money or I'll die right here.'

  "'You say you don't threaten,' says he suspiciously. 'Aint that whatyou're saying now--something darned like a bluff?'

  "'No,' says I, 'it aint. I don't threaten,' and I turned my right hipround towards him where I had my pistol slung. 'I'll hold up my handsand you can take away this pistol if you like,' and I threw up both myarms over my head.

  "'Put down your hands,' says he quietly, 'I don't want to take yourpistol.' There were mirrors all round the room, and as I turned I caughtsight of my face, and though I felt red-hot I could see I was as whiteas a sheet, and my eyes like coals of fire. Truth to tell, I was mad.'Don't take things too hard,' says he, 'it'll come right. I know justhow you feel. I've been busted myself more nor once. Look here, youngman, I've rather taken a liking to you. I'm going to set you goingagain. I'll give you a thousand dollars out of my own pocket, andthat'll start you, and all I'll ask is----'

  "'You'll give h----l!' I burst out. 'I'm not a beggar! I don't want noman's charity. I want my money--six thousand two hundred and fiftydollars in greenbacks--neither more nor less. That's all.'"

  Stephens paused. The vividness of his own recollections, excited by therecital of the incident, had flushed his face and quickened hisbreathing. His pipe had gone out, and he signalled to the boy foranother coal to relight it. Manuelita sprang up, ran to the kitchenhearth, snatched a coal from it, and gave it to the boy to carry in.

  Don Nepomuceno, keenly interested, leaned forward with his hands on hisknees. "Yes," he said, "yes. Gambling makes much trouble. I know it, forI was a great gambler myself. There were four years that I gambled agreat deal, when I was sowing my wild oats." He nodded with thesententiousness of a reformed character, who yet relished thereminiscence. "It's a bad thing, very bad. But young men will be youngmen. Now, there's my son Andres, he gambled a great deal too much lastwinter. But, look you, I am keeping that young man now out in camp withthe sheep herd, to see after the peons. The lambing season is justcoming on, and they are going off up the Valle Grande, where there ismuch green grass. That is far away from the settlements; he can't getinto much trouble up there, can he?" and the father chuckled withself-satisfa
ction over his ingenious little manoeuvre. "But here, I aminterrupting you, Don Estevan, and I want to hear the rest of yourstory. Please excuse me, and continue."

  "Well," resumed Stephens, "the upshot of it was he saw I was in earnest.So I was. I expected to die right there. If he'd attempted to leave thatroom, I'd have jumped him, and then they'd have killed me. I didn'tmind, I was so wound up. He turns to me, and says he, 'I believe I'mgoing to do a thing that I never did before, young man. I'm going togive you back that money that your partner lost of yours.' He went to asafe he had in the corner, unlocks it, takes out a roll of notes andbrings 'em to the table. 'Jake,' he sung out to his man through thewall, 'you can put away that shot-gun, it aint needed.'

  "He counts out to me the full amount and hands it over.

  "'Mr. Frenchy,' says I, 'you're a gentleman. I'll never forget this thelongest day I live.'

  "'No more'll I,' says he, with a dry grin on his face. 'The laugh's onme this time, I think,' he says, 'and I can tell you that aint the casevery often.'

  "'I think likely,' says I, getting up to go. 'Good morning, mister; willyou shake hands?'

  "'That I will,' says he; and we shook.

  "'Look here,' says he, holding me by the hand, 'I want to ask you onething more. If you thought you had the best right to this money whydidn't you go to a lawyer and enter suit for it?'

  "'Go to a lawyer!' said I; 'what would I do that for? The law inMontana's a thief; you know it, and everyone knows it.' So it was, DonNepomuceno. The head of the ladrones there was the regular, lawful,elected sheriff of Helena; the road-agents ran the country in fact.

  "'No,' says I to Mr. Frenchy, 'I didn't want no lawyer. I heard say youwere a gentleman, and I thought I'd give you a chance to prove it, andI'm glad I did.'"

  Stephens took a few draws at his pipe; the excitement into which he hadworked himself over his story was passing off now the climax was over.

  "Well," he resumed, "I went back to my hotel and I woke Rocky. I toldhim we must part, and I offered to divide. He wouldn't quite do that,but he took a thousand dollars off me. He was mighty penitent, but Itold him I'd no use for such a pard any more. I was sick of Montanaaltogether, and concluded to skip. I paid my hotel bill, went over toFrenchy's and made him a present of my cayuse, and I donated over to himmy share in every claim I had located in Montana to compensate him forwhat he had lost by giving up the half of Rocky's losings. I believehe's made a pot of money out of some of those claims since. I took thestage for Green River City, and then for Denver, and I got through safewithout being held up. I salted down most of my money into Denver realestate, which pays me a fair interest, and part I've used in paying myway while I've been prospecting in Southern Colorado and Northern NewMexico. And that's how I come to be here."

  "Thank you, Don Estevan, thank you," said the Mexican. "It is mostinteresting; but I wonder you can think of going back to such a_companero_. It is a very perilous idea."

  "Oh, well," answered Stephens carelessly, as he rose to take hisdeparture, "meeting him isn't the same thing as going and doubling upwith him again. I'll be apt to know more about that when I see him."

  But Manuelita's heart gave a little painful throb at the discovery thatthis man, in whom she was fast learning to take an interest too greatfor her own peace of mind, could return so lightly to a life that hadalready brought him into such dangers, and could depart apparentlywithout thinking of her, or of what his loss might mean to her. He didindeed belong to another world.

  His mule was brought out and saddled, and his belt once more buckled on,with the revolver hanging low on his right hip. He warmly grasped DonNepomuceno's hand at parting, and with a smile and a bow and his hatdoffed to the ladies, he swung himself into the saddle and rode away.

  Don Nepomuceno and his sister stood in the great doorway at the entranceto the courtyard, looking after his retreating form. He rode with thelong stirrup and erect military seat of one who had seen service in aUnited States cavalry regiment, no bad school for horsemanship; his finefigure and his athletic frame showed off to great advantage. A hundredyards away, at the bend of the road, he turned in his saddle to wave hishat once more in a final adieu, and the warm sunlight kissed hisprofusion of golden curls. Manuelita ran back into the house that heraunt might not detect the emotion betrayed by her quivering lip. But theelder lady had her gaze steadily directed towards the parting guest."_Ah, que hombres tan aventureros, si, son estos!_" she said--"What boldadventurers they are, those men!"

  "True indeed," answered her brother, "'tis most true. For myself, I hatethe Americans, most of them, but admire this one, and I like him too.But he is set on this life of adventure. I sounded him on the matter; Ieven hinted to him that it was full time for him to marry and settledown. But he would none of it."

  "_Es hombre muy frio_"--"He is a very cold man"--said the Mexicanwoman, and there was a spice of scorn as well as regret in her tone. Shedespised a man who was a laggard in love, and her spoken judgment hadcoincided with Manuelita's thought.

  "It is true, it is most true," assented her brother. "He is cold. TheseAmericans are not impassioned in the love of women as we are. The chillof their frozen North is in the very marrow of their bones. They are notlike unto us of Mexico and the South."

  Those who know them best will bear witness that, whether they aredescended from Spanish _conquistadores_, from the devoted warriors ofMontezuma, the passionate hearts of the sons and daughters of Mexicoprove them in very truth to be Children of the Sun.