CHAPTER XIX

  TO THE POUND-A-DAY

  There was very little time to be lost. When in the morning they hadeaten breakfast and had packed Jenny (who did not seem to object to achange from doing nothing all day) with a buffalo robe and a blanket andthe picks and spades and cooking stuff and some provisions, and hadplaced a note for Harry--"Gone to get rich. Will see you later"--andsallied down the gulch, Terry with his shot-gun on his shoulder andGeorge with his wooden-hammer revolver at his belt, and each with agold-pan slung on his back, the procession for the new diggin's alreadyhad started.

  It looked quite like business, too--a long file composed of men ridinghorses or mules, and of men driving pack animals, and of other men afootand carrying their packs, pressing south, out of the gulch, evidentlyfollowing the lead of the Tarryall man.

  "Once we locate our pound of gold a day, these other diggin's can gohang, can't they?" puffed George, as they hurried.

  "I should say!" concurred Terry. "All we'll do will be to come back andget Harry and sell to that Pine Knot Ike crowd, and then we'll lightout again. Glad we didn't say where we're bound for. When we sell we canpretend to Ike that we're plumb disgusted."

  "Sure. Let's push up in front."

  They were fast-footed and Jenny was long-legged, and they passed oneafter another of their rivals, until they were well toward the van. Thewagon-man guide could be seen in the advance, guiding up a steep dividebetween the North Clear Creek and the South Clear Creek. The routeappeared to be by an old Indian trail; and the divide itself grew into amountain. Higher and higher led the trail--a tough climb that made theprocession straggle.

  It was a great relief when the trail conducted down again, on the otherside, to South Clear Creek, and crossed, and turned up, through abeautiful country, to a couple of lonely lakes. But presently it beganto climb over another mountain!

  Terry limped, George limped, everyone afoot limped, no stop had beenmade for lunch. Everybody was afraid that somebody else would get to thepound-a-day first.

  "Wonder how far we've come now?" panted George.

  "You're a tenderfoot. You're petered out already!" accused Terry. "Wearen't half there."

  "I don't limp any worse than you do," retorted George.

  "Keep a-going."

  "Keep a-going."

  On top of this mountain they all in the advance ran into a snowstorm,while the people lower down, behind, evidently were warm andcomfortable. Then night fell--a real January night--and camp had to bemade.

  However, George was game. He proved to be a good campaigner, for atenderfoot; and as an old-timer Terry of course needs must pretend thatthis kind of camping was nothing at all. So they pitched in together andcooked supper like the rest of the crowd, and went early to bed on topof the blanket and underneath the buffalo robe.

  "Jenny won't thank us any for bringing her from summer right intowinter, I reckon," murmured George, as he and Terry spooned against eachother, to keep warm.

  "No," replied Terry. "This 'pound of gold a day' song doesn't meananything to her yet. But it'll be warm down in Tarryall, they say--justlike back at the Gregory diggin's."

  "We ought to get there tomorrow."

  "Depends on how many more of these mountains there are," reasoned Terry."Without that Tarryall man to guide us we'd all be lost, sure."

  On and on and on, into the south and southwest, continued the march:down and up, across more creeks, across more mountains, into canyons andout again; and when night arrived, no South Park and Tarryall diggin'swere yet in sight. Nothing was in sight but thick timber and wild rockyridges extending to snow-line. Near or distant, before, behind, oneither side, the landscape was the same.

  "A few miles, boys, and we'll be there," promised the Tarryall man."'Bout tomorrow noon, say. Then for your pound a day."

  "Seems as though that pound of gold a day was always ten or forty milesahead of a fellow," complained Terry. "First it was at Cherry Creek,then it was at Gregory Gulch, and now it's somewhere yonder. He saidfifty miles, and I bet we've hoofed a hundred and still we haven'tstruck it yet. Guess Harry and I'll have to sell the Golden Prize so asto get us some boots. Look at mine!"

  "We'll make moccasins or trade for some with the Injuns," consoledGeorge. "When you're getting your pound a day you won't care."

  The straggling procession was well worn out by two days of long, hardmarching afoot and ahorse, and most of the animals were foot-sore. Buttonight's camp was more cheerful, because the new diggin's lay closebefore, over the next divide. Yes, the Tarryall man had promised truly,for about eleven o'clock in the morning the head of the processionshouted and cheered and waved.

  "South Park, boys--and Tarryall's in sight!"

  "Hooray!" cheered everybody, as the news spread back from mouth to mouthand ear to ear.

  "Gwan, Jenny!" bade George, clapping her on the gaunt flank; and drivingher, he and Terry limped faster.

  Because they were boys they had been well treated, on the way over, butnow when new diggin's were so close at hand they might expect no favors.Every party must rustle for itself.

  "Jenny! Gwan! Do you want to be left? Gwan! Hep with you!"

  "Hep with you!" echoed Terry.

  Jenny did her best; before and behind, the other outfits were doingtheir very best--crashing recklessly through the brush and timber andsliding and tumbling over the rocks. The head of the procession haddisappeared over another little rise--perhaps was already in and at worklocating the best pound-a-day claims!

  "Jenny! Jenny! Yip! Gwan!" urged George and Terry. And with their rivalstreading on their heels they, too, mounted the little rise, gained thetop, and now in the clear could gaze anxiously beyond.

  "I see it! I see the camp!" exclaimed Terry.

  "So do I. But, whew! this is a big place, isn't it?" puffed George.

  South Park was indeed large, and also beautiful; being an immense flat,miles wide and miles long, grassy and green and dotted with timberpatches and bare round hills--yes, and with buffalo and deer, too!--andwell watered by winding streams and the snows of high encirclingmountains. The sight might well make one gasp, but another sight shouldbe attended to first: that of the leading gold-seekers spurring theirhorses and mules diagonally across in a race for a glimmer of tents setamidst willows and pines against the west edge.

  And pellmell, hobbling and shouting and straining, all the raggedcompany strung out after.

  "If we won't be first, we won't be last, just the same," panted Terry.

  The Tarryall diggin's resolved into three or four tents and severalbough huts along a creek where it formed a broad gulch as it issued fromthe mountains. The gulch was being worked with rockers and pans, andclaim stakes seemed to be planted clear through, from side to side. Infact, when, breathless, their eyes roving eagerly, Terry and Georgearrived, business-bent, it looked as though the whole ground had alreadybeen occupied by the discoverers!

  "Tarryall! This isn't Tarryall--it ought to be named Grab-all!" wasdenouncing one of the leaders who had won the race from the last ridge."What do you think, boys?" he addressed, as the other Gregory Gulchin-comers paused and jostled uncertainly. "There are twelve of theseTarryall fellows, and they've each of 'em staked off two thousand feet!That means twenty-four thousand feet of claims--nearly five miles! Isthat fair? No! By miners' law a claim's one hundred feet."

  "You're right. One hundred feet."

  "Tear up those stakes."

  "No thousand or two thousand foot business goes with us!"

  "They've invited us in here. They've got to give us a show."

  "Grab-all! Grab-all! That's the name for this camp: Grab-all!"

  The murmur of responses was instant. The Gregory Gulch men surgedangrily. The Tarryall men--twelve, now that the guide from Gregory Gulchhad joined them--stood in a compact little group. They were a sturdy,rough-and-ready squad, well armed and able to take care of themselves.Their spokesman, a burly, shaggy-bearded individual, stepped out a pace,and tapped the butt of his revolver s
ignificantly.

  "That's tall talk, gentlemen," he said, "but it's wasted on us. This isour camp. We've discovered this ground. We came in here first, where nowhite men ever prospected before and where the Injuns are liable toraise our hair any moment; we've drawn our own regulations, and I reckonwe're going to hold what we've got. No white men, or Injuns either, cantell us what we're to do. If you want peace you can have it; if you wanta fight, you can have it; for here we are, and anybody that tries tojump a claim that we've got marked out will be making his last jump--youcan bank on that. There's plenty ground left; don't you touch ours."

  For a minute things looked ugly, as the Gregory Gulch crowd growledindignantly, and the Tarryall squad waited, watchful and unafraid. Thenthe other man spoke.

  "Let's have dinner, boys. After that we'll prospect 'round and hold alittle meeting, and see whether this camp is to be Tarryall or Grab-all.Tarryall is what we were invited to join, but if these fellows thinkwe're in here to buy them out because we can't find anything else to do,they're mighty mistaken. It's a smooth scheme, but it won't work."

  "We can run 'em out, all right, if they don't play fair," boastedGeorge, as he and Terry imitated the rest of the company and prepareddinner.

  "I don't know. There'd be a lot of men killed," reasoned Terry. "Theywere in here first, and we promised to respect their rights aslocators."

  "We weren't told they'd staked out all the ground, though. They'reallowed only a hundred feet at a time."

  "That's the Gregory Gulch rule, but this isn't Gregory Gulch; it's adifferent district," argued Terry, who felt that he'd rather prospectthan fight. "Maybe we all can find thousand-feet claims."

  "Well, we can't find 'em in Tarryall," stormed George. "And Tarryall'sthe place we were brought to. I guess they expect us to buy. It's aput-up job."

  The meeting was held immediately after dinner. Hot speeches were made,and several resolutions were passed: one changing the name from Tarryallto "Grab-all," and another declaring that all claims should be onehundred feet. However, nobody seemed quite up to enforcing this new ruleon the claims already staked. Amidst threats and bluster and gloweringlooks the Tarryall squad warily resumed their daily work, and graduallythe Gregory Gulch crowd spread out, searching here and there for color,but taking care not to trespass.

  "No fight," decided George, as if disappointed. "It's going to be just agrab-all. Get your tools if you want your pound a day."

  "That's what we came for," reminded Terry, as they shouldered pick andspade apiece. "We won't wait for any fight. Come on; leave the stuffhere."

  "Somebody'll steal your shot-gun."

  "Don't think so. I can't carry that, too! But I can put it in one ofthose Tarryall tents."

  "I'll wear my revolver. I don't leave that," pronounced George, wagginghis head.

  "Sure. You ought to travel well heeled, in these parts, sonny." One ofthe Tarryall men had strolled over. "If you don't, that Dutchman willtake your scalp."

  "What Dutchman?" demanded Terry.

  "He's holed up in a gulch about a mile yonder. He's like the rest of usoriginal discoverers--what he has he's bound to keep. We all give him aclear field, and I'd advise you to do the same. It's an unhealthyneighborhood hereabouts for claim jumpers. You're two plucky lads. Anymore in your party?"

  "No, sir. We're our own outfit," informed Terry. "But we've got anotherpartner, and some prospects, back in the Gregory diggin's."

  "Do you know where we can dig a pound a day here? That man who broughtus in said you were digging a pound a day," challenged George.

  "So we are--or will be as soon as we get our lumber in place forsluices. But you newcomers won't locate any pound a day ground in thisgulch. We've seen to that and we don't propose to be bullied out of ourrights as discoverers. We risked our lives to come in here; but ofcourse we'd be glad of company. We own the ground and we own the water.You fellows find your ground and your water, and all together we'llstand off the Injuns. I thought I'd warn you about the Dutchman,though--you two boys, at any rate. I don't want to see you harmed. Youwere speaking about leaving your scatter-gun," he concluded, moregruffly, to Terry. "That's all right. I'll keep an eye on it for you. Ifyou don't bother the Dutchman he won't bother you."

  "He'd better not," asserted George. "I'm going to wear _my_ gun. Who ishe and what does he want around here?"

  "Crazy, I told you. Thinks he has a strike, and maybe he has. But it'swell to let a crazy man alone, and as long as he stays away from us westay away from him. The park's big enough for that. Dutchman Diggin's,we've named his gulch. One of the boys happened in there, by accident,and was run out at the point of a shot-gun. All we see of the Dutchmanis when he's hunting, and even then he's not far away from home, youbet. Now, that gulch is just beyond the second bunch of timber, south.See? And I'm warning you, friendly, because you're young."

  "We'll watch out. Much obliged," promised Terry.

  "Yes, but he'd better watch out, too," blustered George. "We're notenderfeet. This gun of mine is a humdinger. He won't know it's got awooden hammer, and it might shoot."

  "Pshaw, now!" laughed the Tarryall man. "You certainly walk kind oftender-footed. But go ahead and find your pound a day."

  "Guess we'll try south, just the same," said Terry, to George, as theystruck off. "We can dodge the Dutchman, and there aren't many of thecrowd down that way."

  "Where'll we begin?" queried George, keeping pace.

  "Whenever we come to a low place where there's water we'll pan forcolor. That's the only way," instructed Terry. "The gulches are the bestplaces."

  "Well, we'll have to locate our own diggin's pretty quick and hustleback for Harry, or we'll be all out of grub," declared George.

  This search for color was fascinating work, especially when they had thefield practically to themselves. There were so many likely places, oneafter another. Terry planned to pattern after John Gregory, and followthe color right to the source--that is, follow it when once they hadfound it. But to find it was the chief difficulty.

  They panned faithfully clear up the first gulch, to its head--passing afew other "panners." Then they took the trail of a side draw and crossedover to another gulch and panned there. Once they thought that they hadstruck something, but it proved to be only a trace, and they lost eventhat. The country was getting wild and lonely.

  "Don't suppose there are any Injuns watching, do you?" suddenlysuggested George, as they were crossing a little pass that appeared tolead to still another draw or gulch.

  "No." Pine and rock basked peacefully and innocent in the afternoonsunshine. "Nobody said anything about 'em. Shep would smell 'em. Hehates Injuns. We'll try this next gulch and come out at the lower end,and then make tracks for camp. The sun's going to set."

  They crossed over the ridge and descended.

  "She looks like a good one, this time, doesn't she!" appraised George,while they strode and slid and leaped down the short slope, with Shepscouting on either hand.

  "We're too high up for water, though," criticized Terry. "Can't panwithout water."

  The gulch was a small one, and dry. They followed along the bottom,where a stream course had worn the pebbles round and scored the soilinto banks.

  "I hear water," uttered Terry. "There's a stream ahead, all right."

  The gulch was joined by another gulch entering at an angle--and by astream, as well.

  "Here's your good place to pan," exulted Terry. "See the gravel and thebars? Sort of an eddy. Regular pound-a-day place!"

  "Yes; and somebody else has been digging, too!" growled George,disgusted. "Can't we ever discover anything?"

  "They aren't digging now. Those are only gopherings. We'll get deeper.That's where the big strikes lie--down deep on bed-rock," encouragedTerry.

  "Dig deep, boy," bade George.

  "Dig deep, for a pound a day."

  And they set to work. George's spade clinked on rock, and at bladelength he carefully dumped dirt and gravel into his pan.

  "Golly, I believe
I see gold!" he breathed. Terry paused to awaitresults. George panned feverishly--grew more and more excited. "Hurrah!Look-ee here! We've struck it!" His pan, not yet fully cleared, wassparkling and yellow all over the bottom! "We've struck it!"

  "We've struck it!" cheered Terry, forgetful of his own pan awaiting.

  They danced. Shep barked and gamboled. And a heavy voice broke in with--

  "Ja! You struck it. Maybe not! Maybe you get struck mit a club! Holdyour hands up an' keep quiet until I see what kind of robbers you aredot come into my gulch."