The Cave of Gold<br />A Tale of California in '49 by Everett McNeil (e book reader pdf TXT) 📕

riffle-bars, were nailed across the bottom of the cradle-box, one at the middle and the other near the lower end. An upright piece of wood, nailed to one side of the cradle-box, furnished a convenient handle for the man who did the rocking. Such, briefly described, was the make of the curious machine that had so aroused the interest of Thure and Bud.

"Ever see a cradle work before?" asked the man who was shoveling the dirt and pouring the water into the hopper, as Thure and Bud came running up, their eyes shining with interest.

"No," answered Thure. "It sure is a funny looking machine."

"It sure is," agreed the man. "But a fellow can clean two or three times as much dirt with it as he can with a pan and do it better. This is the philosophy of it," and he shoveled the pay-dirt into the hopper until it was a little over half filled, and then, picking up a long-handled dipper, began dipping water out of the reservoir and pouring it on the dirt in the hopper, while the other man constantly kept the cradle rocking back and forth. "You see," continued the man, "the motion and the water loosens and softens the dirt until all of it, except the larger stones, falls through the holes in the bottom of the hopper and runs down the apron to the upper end of the cradle and then down the bottom of the cradle and over the riffle-bars and out the lower end, leaving the gold and the heavier particles of sand and gravel behind the riffle-bars. But a fellow has to keep the cradle in constant motion, or the sand will pack and harden behind the riffle-bars and allow the gold to slide over it, instead of sinking down through it, as gold always will when sand or gravel is loose or in motion," as he spoke, he thrust his hand into the hopper and picked out a couple of stones too large to pass through the holes in the bottom of the hopper, and, after closely examining them to see that there was no gold clinging to their sides, threw them away.

"But, how do you get the gold out of the cradle?" queried Bud. "It seems to be mixed all up with a lot of heavy sand and gravel behind the riffle-bars."

"We will show you, just as soon as we wash out this hopper full of dirt," replied the man. "Ay, Hank?" and he turned to his companion, the rocker.

"I reckon it is about time to make a clean up, Dave," assented Hank, shifting the other hand to the cradle handle. "Anyhow both my arms are about plumb tired out."

After about ten minutes of this vigorous rocking all the dirt had been dissolved and nothing remained in the hopper except a number of stones, too large to fall through the holes in its bottom, which had been washed clean by the water and the shaking they had received.

"There, I calculate that will do the business," and the man addressed as Dave, dropped the dipper, with which he had been pouring the water into the hopper, while Hank stopped rocking the cradle and, rising to his feet, stretched up both arms over his head with a sigh of relief.

"Say, but this gold-digging is darned hard work," and he grinned down at the two boys.

"A darned sight harder than measuring cloth behind a counter," laughed Dave, as he lifted the hopper off the cradle and with a quick jerk threw the stones out of it and laid it down on the ground. "But a fellow gets something for his hard work—that is, he does if he is lucky," he added, as he picked up a large iron spoon from the ground near the cradle. "Now we'll see how the gold pans out," and bending over the cradle he began digging out the gravel and sand behind the riffle-bars with the spoon and throwing it into a gold-pan, which Hank held.

By this time all the company, except Pedro, who had been left in charge of the pack-horses, had gathered around the two men and were watching the cleaning up process with the greatest interest.

"'Bout how much dew you expect she'll pan out?" queried Ham, as Dave scraped out the last spoonful of sand and gravel and threw it into the pan.

"Somewhere between three and four ounces," answered Dave. "At least that is about what we usually clean out. How does she feel, Hank?" and he turned to his partner, who was running his fingers speculatively through the wet sand in the pan.

"I'll bet you an ounce of dust that there is a good five ounces of gold in this pan right now," declared the man, his eyes shining.

Before replying Dave took the pan and ran his fingers a few times through the sand.

"I'll go you. Wash her out," and he handed the pan back to Hank.

Hank now took the pan to the little stream of water, where the swift current would help in separating the gold from the sand; and in a few minutes his skilful hands had succeeded in washing out of the pan all the sand and gravel, except a thin layer of black sand, that was too heavy to wash out without danger of washing out the gold with it, which now could be seen sparkling here and there in the sand.

"Want to back out?" and Hank held the pan up in triumph in front of Dave's face.

"Sure not. There is not over four ounces there," answered Dave, after a moment's close examination of the sand. "Get out your magnet."

Hank now thrust one of his hands into his pocket and pulled out a large horseshoe magnet, the ends of which he at once began passing over the black sand in the bottom of the pan; and, since the black sand was nearly all iron, the magnet force caused it to cling to the horseshoe and in this ingenious manner the remaining sand was quickly drawn from the pan, leaving a thin, a very thin layer of gold-dust lying on its bottom.

Dave now produced a small balance from one of his pockets and the gold-dust was quickly gathered up and weighed.

"I win! Five ounces and a half!" shouted Hank triumphantly, at the same time giving Dave a resounding whack on his back with the flat of his hand. "That's the best clean up we've had since we started digging here. I reckon you boys brought us good luck," and he grinned joyously into the faces of Thure and Bud.

"Five an' a half ounces! That's a mighty good clean up," declared Ham, critically eyeing the little pile of gold-dust on the scale. "How often dew you clean up a day?"

"Usually about four times," answered one of the men. "But sometimes, when the shoveling is good, we get in another clean up or two by working a little late."

"Wal, tew hundred an' fifty or three hundred dollars' worth of gold a day is shore dewin' pretty well for tew men; an' I hopes y'ur good luck continues."

"No more measuring cloth behind a counter for me, if it does," laughed Dave. "You see Hank and I were both clerks in a drygoods store back East; but we will both be proprietors when we get back, if our good luck holds out only a few months longer," and the look on the faces of the two men told how much they were counting on that proprietorship.

"I am sure your good luck will continue," smiled Mr. Conroyal encouragingly. "But now we must be on our way," and he led the way back to where Pedro was waiting with the horses.

That night our friends made their camp in a little grove of trees that grew on the bank of a streamlet flowing through a small mountain valley, where there was an abundance of water, wood, and grass.

Pedro proved himself so great a success at unpacking the horses and attending to the rougher camp duties that all felt like congratulating themselves on having secured his service. He was willing and cleanly, two rather rare qualities in the Mexican camp menial, who was usually sullen in disposition and dirty in person and habits. He also proved to the satisfaction of all that his flapjacks deserved all the praises that Coleman had given them.

"He's a jewel," declared Mrs. Dickson enthusiastically. "And, if it wasn't for something snaky and creepy-crawly looking in his eyes, I had rather have his help than that of most women's. But I guess that queer look and the way he has of watching all of us comes from his being Mexican. Now," and she lowered her voice, "are you still planning to break camp sometime during the night and try to fool Ugger and his men, if they are trying to keep watch of us?"

"Yes," replied Mr. Conroyal. "The moon will be up about midnight; and, I reckon, that will be about the best time for us to try to make our getaway. So the sooner we all get to sleep the more rest we will get. Now, how about the guard?" and he turned inquiringly to the circle of men who had gathered around the camp-fire for a quiet little talk, after the supper had been eaten and all the camp duties had been attended to. "Do you think it necessary for us to post guards over the camp nights?"

"Sart'in," declared Ham. "Them skunks would be shore tew be up tew some devilment, like stealin' our hosses or something if we didn't; an' I don't calculate on lettin' 'em git th' start on us, if watchin' will prevent it. I'm for havin' a guard every night, until we git safe back tew civilerzation ag'in. Them's uncommon cunnin' scoundrels what's on our trail, an' we don't want tew take no chances with them."

"That's exactly the way I feel about it," agreed Mr. Conroyal. "Twould be foolish to run any needless chances. Rex, you will stand guard for the first two hours. Then you can awaken Dill, who will keep guard until it is time to arouse the camp, which will be just as soon as the moon rises, somewhere around midnight. Now everybody but Rex get into their blankets."

A small tent had been secured for the use of Mrs. Dickson, into which she now retired; but the men found "soft" spots of ground near the camp-fire, spread out their blankets on them, and, rolling themselves up in the blankets, lay down to as sound a sleep as ever blessed a man in the most comfortable of beds.

A little after midnight, just as the white disk of the moon rose above the tops of the mountains to the east, Dill quietly awoke his father; and then the two quietly, and cautioning all to make as little noise as possible, awoke the others.

Pedro, who had lain down near the horses, was at first inclined to be surly, when aroused from a sound sleep and told to pack the horses as quickly and as quietly as possible; but in a few minutes all his surliness had vanished and he was doing the work with a swift and skilful dexterity that showed long practice.

In half an hour the horses were packed and everything was ready to start.

"Now," and Mr. Conroyal lowered his voice almost to a whisper, "there must be no talking and everyone must move quietly, so as to make as little noise as possible, until we have put a couple of miles between us and the camp. I'll go on ahead and the others can follow in single file. Rex, you and Dill and Thure and Bud help Pedro with the horses. You had better lead them for awhile. We will leave the camp-fire burning. Everybody ready?"

"Yes"—"Yes," came in whispers.

"All right. Come on," and Mr. Conroyal, walking carefully so as to make as little noise as possible, moved off down the trail that showed faintly in the moonlight.

In the excitement of the moment no one saw Pedro bend quickly down to the ground, just before starting, and swiftly slip a piece of paper on which was written the two words, "Humbug Canyon," under a stone that lay near the camp-fire, and then, with a cunning gleam in his snaky black eyes straighten up and give all his attention to the horse he was to lead.

All now fell into line and followed close behind Mr. Conroyal, Thure and Bud and Rex and Dill and Pedro each leading one of the pack-horses.

For a mile the trail was over the soft grass-covered sod of the valley, which muffled the sounds made by their moving feet, so that they might have passed within half a dozen rods of a camp without a man in it dreaming that a little company of men and horses were