CHAPTER I. THE “LAST CHANCE.”

Matters had come to a crisis with Len and Max, when Sandy McKinnon arrived at the camp, with a letter of introduction from a friend in Denver.

These two young men had not been at all fortunate, so far, and, like the rest of the community, were sorely discouraged. They had wavered for some days between deserting the place and another alternative, the nature of which they kept to themselves, for they knew that they might not only be laughed at, but perhaps prevented from carrying out their plan, were it announced.

The camp I refer to is now a flourishing{4} town, the center of many small side-villages on the northern slope of Sierra San Juan; but twenty-five years ago, when my story occurred, it was at the point of collapse, and perhaps would never have recovered had not what I am about to relate occurred; and you must bear with me while I explain the circumstances that led up to its revival.

The beginnings of the town had been made half a dozen miles higher up Panther Creek, almost at its source, in fact; but after digging numberless prospect-holes and driving three fairly long tunnels, everybody voted that locality a failure, and came down to the present town-site where paying mines had since been worked for two or three years.

The two young men had become the owners, some time before, of one of these early tunnels (that one nearest the source of the Creek), through taking it as payment of a joint debt because nothing better was to be had. It was called the Last Chance, and the boys accepted the name as significant, and{5} proposed to risk what means they had left in giving the mine a new trial.

About 200 feet down stream was a second tunnel, the Aurora, owned by two men who were friendly to our heroes, one of whom, named Bowen, was famous for his reckless yet good-natured exploits of bravado.

Some distance still farther down the cañon, on the same side (the right-hand wall of the narrow gulch, looking down stream), was the third old tunnel, the Cardinal. This last was the property of a thorough scallawag, despised and avoided by all respectable citizens, and only kept from being a positive criminal by his natural cowardice. The enmity of this man, whose real name was lost in the nick-names “Old Bob” and “Squint-eye,” had been incurred by the boys through their exposing a fraud by which he had once proposed to sell to a stranger named Anderson, as a productive mine, this very property—the Last Chance—although he neither owned it nor believed it worth anything.{6}

It was not strange, therefore, that, while trying to avoid general curiosity, they were especially anxious to keep their intentions secret from Old Bob.

And just at this juncture came Mr. Alexander McKinnon, straight from Glasgow, and hoping to do something at the camp which might teach him how silver mining should be carried on, and perhaps open a way to make his fortune. Placing all the chances of failure, and their poverty, fairly before him, they offered to let him into their new partnership, to be called Brehm, Bushwick & Co., on very liberal terms, and he accepted.

So they fitted him out with the kind of clothing, tools, and general outfit which were needful, purchased enough provisions to last a fortnight, after which they could come to town for more, and to-morrow the three were to start bright and early to their new home and the Last Chance.

When the rising sun of the next morning had begun to tinge the snow-peaks with{7} rose-color, but hours before his beams could scale the mountain wall of this deep valley and flood it with warmth and light, our hopeful adventurers were awake and busy with breakfast.

Sandy showed himself a much more skillful cook than either of his American friends, and was warmly applauded.

“There’s a difference between fend and fare weell,” he remarked, sententiously, when they told him of some of their troubles in this matter; “by which I mean,” he added, as he saw their puzzled faces, “that shifting for a meal is bad policy beside knowing how to have plenty of good food and how to prepare it. It’s poor economy, I’m thinkin’, to half-starve one’s self. ‘Lang fasting hains’—that’s saves, ye ken—‘nae bread.’”

McKinnon dropped more and more into broad Scotch as he became better acquainted, and his fund of old saws, into each of which whole chapters of worldly experience had{8} been boiled down, were a constant source of enjoyment to his partners.

Breakfast out of the way in a hurry, the three burros (Mexican donkeys) hired to carry their luggage were brought around, the little sawbuck saddles placed upon their backs, and cinched to them with a tightness that made them groan and grunt lustily; then the load of each was placed between the forks, or hung to the four horns of the saddle, surmounted by the long-handled tools, and securely lashed on by ropes and thongs of twisted rawhide, which never break or stretch, and rarely get loose from the “squaw-hitch.”

The whole baggage made about six fair burro-loads, and these were to be carried in two trips. It was not necessary for them to burden themselves with a great amount of furniture or provisions, since the former could be left locked up in town, and the provisions could be replenished when they ran short. Besides, the lads expected to catch an{9} abundance of trout and perhaps shoot an occasional deer or mountain sheep, an expectation in which they would not have been disappointed had the extraordinary affair which happened later left time for hunting and fishing.

The trail was a steep and little-used pathway up the mountain, through dense woods, where it straggled about to avoid rocks and fallen logs. It was built up, shelf-fashion, around projecting knobs, crossed fierce torrents upon narrow bridges, and was full of sharp turns, miry holes, and bad going of every description. Here and there an opening in the forest gave a magnificent view, far out over the foot-hills, for the elevation, toward the head of the creek, was more than four thousand feet above the valleys and fully ten thousand feet above the sea.

Beyond the woods the party found itself on the brink of a deep gorge, at the bottom of which Panther Creek tore down in a series of cascades. The torrent ran four or{10} five hundred feet below, and above them the mountains rose to invisible heights. Along this cliff-face the narrow trail had been carried irregularly and often very dangerously, but the hardy little beasts picked their way cautiously up and down, and never sank too deep in a bog or got too far over the edge of a precipice.

Finally the trail reached the edge of the creek, near its head, and here was a ford, beyond which it led through the willows and over the Aurora’s dump to the Last Chance, whose cabin, perched on a bench, or terrace, was gained by a stiff climb up a zigzag in the face of the rocky bluff.

The burros were turned loose in a small meadow above the cabin, and after a hearty supper the tired boys quickly made beds of boughs and blankets, and slept as their long tramp entitled them to do.

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CHAPTER II. THE FURNISHING OF A NEW HOME.

It was understood, without discussion, that Max should take the superintendence of all mining operations, that Len should be the buyer and business man of the firm generally, and that Sandy should look after the housekeeping. Of course, they would all work together, but these were the specialties of each partner.

“Now who is to go back after the rest of our possessions,” demanded Lennox, as they gathered at breakfast on the morning following their arrival. “I don’t reckon there’s any use of two going.”

“No—I’d as lief do it,” Max remarked. “I can re-cinch and manage the jacks rather better than the rest of you, I imagine.”

“You certainly have my permission,” remarked Lennox, with a smile.{14}

“An’ I’m no hinderin’ ye, as the brig said to the burn,” Sandy echoed. “The young man frae Virginia can stay an’ help me get the hoose in trim.”

So the donkeys were brought up and saddled, Max marched away, and the other lads turned to their house-cleaning.

The former owners of the property had built a pretty good log cabin at the head of the dump, close to the mouth of the tunnel, the door and front window of which faced down the gulch and straight at the Aurora’s dump. There was a rude fireplace in which had been left a dilapidated cooking stove. The first task was the straightening up of this, and putting it into condition for use, which Len soon accomplished.

At the farther end of the cabin a series of bunks had been built out of poles. These were now broken and unwholesome, so they were pulled to pieces, the loose bark and other dirt cleared away from the logs and floor behind them, and new ones were put up,{15} a layer of slender, elastic poles making an excellent bed-bottom in each bunk; and spruce boughs luxurious mattresses upon which to spread the buffalo robes and blankets.

This and some other tidying had taken all day, but when Max came in about sundown, the kettle was singing and dancing on the old stove, that leaked fire-light, if not fire, from a dozen cracks, and all three were well satisfied with themselves and their snug home; while the boy, who came with Max to drive the donkeys back, was loud in his praises, and went away convinced that no body on the Creek could make flapjacks equal to Sandy McKinnon.

That evening, as they sat in the doorway, wedging handles into the picks and preparing the little mine lamps, Max suddenly exclaimed:

“Oh, I forgot to tell you! While I was packing the last burro, Squint-eyed Bob came moseying around and wanted to know what I was up to and where I was going, and so on—evidently prying ’round for informa{16}tion. I gave him short answers, but he wasn’t satisfied, and finally boned me outright to know if we weren’t going up to Jim Bowen’s mine on Panther Creek. That roused my dander. ‘Hang it, Bob,’ I retorted, ‘what business is it of yours, where I’m going, or what I am doing? May be I’m going up Panther Creek and may be I’m not—I don’t see what odds it makes to you!’ He saw I was mad and backed off, but he blurted out one thing before he left, that I don’t quite savvy.”

“What was that?”

“I can’t give his words exactly, but it was to the effect that ‘in this country, when a man jumped another man’s claim he was dogon likely to hear from it pretty soon, and that what was left of him wasn’t worth any funeral expenses.’ Then he yelled something about ‘fixing me,’ and went off. Now what can he do?”

“Oh, nothing at all,” said Len. “It’s all bluster. He was trying to bluff you.”{17}

“That may be, but he means to make mischief if he can, and we must look out for him. However, I fancy we’re safe till morning, and I’m going to sleep. Good-night.”

“As for Jim Bowen,” Len answered, “he told me himself, when he was here last, that if I ever wanted to do anything in or about the Aurora, I was welcome to do what I could, for he never should try to develop it.”

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CHAPTER III. A DISCOURAGING EXPLORATION.

It was with eager interest that the young partners shouldered their picks, lighted their lamps, and prepared to begin work on the second day after their arrival. And yet it was with no little trepidation—at any rate in the minds of the two leaders in the enterprise; for Max and Len well knew that they were relying wholly upon a theory, and were going against not only the experience of the early prospectors and miners here, but against the judgment of the whole population of the district, among which were many miners of practical knowledge. As for Sandy—a stranger to these facts—he was simply full of the buoyancy which hope and novelty lends to every new movement in the line of one’s ambition.{22}

If there is anything more inspiriting than mining for the precious metals, the world has not yet found it. It is the secret charm of how many a fairy tale! By it how many a fable can be practically interpreted! Just before you, perhaps right under the first clod, or hidden in the dark recesses of this very crevice out of which springs the service-bush whose sugary berries you are pausing to taste, lies waiting the all-powerful gold.

But just here halt with me a moment, while I sketch the position and outward appearance of this mine. The entrance of the tunnel had been made in a pretty nearly vertical face of rock, at the edge of the little bench or terrace upon which the cabin stood, and the rock which had been excavated had been brought out by cars running upon a rude wooden tramway, and pitched down into the valley, forming an elongated heap of stone, like the beginning of a railway embankment. This was called “the dump.” The track still remained along the level top of the dump, and{23} one of the small cars, somewhat out of repair, lay overturned beside it, its load, apparently the last brought out of the mine, still half filling its box.

How deep and large the tunnel or drift might be, the boys could judge only by the size of the dump, for a heavy door prevented entrance. From under the door trickled a stream of clear cold water, which had already proved a great convenience. The Aurora mine, a hundred yards below, was almost precisely similar in outward appearance—even to the rivulet, but it had no door.

Breakfast dispatched and overalls donned, their picks sharpened, their lamps “trimmed and burning,” the firm marched up to the portal in single file, Max at the head.

“Open, sesame!” shouted the leader.

“Allee samee open,” echoed Len, in the best Chinese he knew.

“Kai duxon parasitidos gignotai,” muttered McKinnon in broad Gaelic Greek.

But his talisman was no more effective{24} than that of the others, and the door stood firm.

Max struck an attitude resembling Thor with his hammer, and made ready to deal the barricade a splintering blow.

“He that would eat the kernel maun crack the nut,” pronounced Sandy, in as solemn a tone of voice as though he were giving a death-warrant.

“Hold on!” exclaimed Len, seizing his partner’s uplifted arm. “Don’t smash it. I reckon we can get in more peaceably. Let’s try to pry off the lock.”

“Very well,” assented Max; “here goes!”

Inserting his pick-point carefully into the staple clasping the padlock, by which the door seemed to be secured, two or three forcible wrenches pulled it out, and the released latch fell easily out of place.

It only remained to swing open the door and face the burst of icily damp air that rushed out, as though delighted to be set free and allowed to mingle with the sunshine.

FORCING THE BARRICADE.

Silver Caves, Page 24.

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You will remember that a steady stream of water was described as pouring out from beneath this door, and coursing down the side of the dump in a channel which showed it had long been followed. The water was cold and pure, and had proved a great convenience to the boys in the cabin, who otherwise must have made a tedious descent to the creek-bed for all they wanted to use.

Upon opening the door it was seen that this stream spread itself over nearly the whole width of the tunnel, which was badly made and far from orderly.

The trio were not afraid of mud and water, however, so they pushed their way in, stumbling along over fallen fragments, and in and out of the puddles, feeling that it would take a longer time to clear the path of these obstacles than they could well afford. They had not gone more than thirty or forty paces, however, when the tunnel became choked with prostrate and moldy timbers and great heaps of fallen rock, which they could with{26} difficulty crawl over. No sooner had this first obstruction been passed than a second similar one was encountered, and they began to feel that it was perilous work to proceed under a tunnel roof so insecure as this one appeared to be.

“I wonder how much deeper this thing is,” said Max, after a third great barricade had been surmounted. “What did our dear old friend, the late lamented proprietor, tell you under that head, Lennox?”

“Said it was 180 feet long.”

“But he didn’t mention that it was only six inches wide!” Max retorted, coming to a halt at the same time.

“We may as well go on a bit farther,” Sandy advised. “A Scotchman doesna like to gie it up till he ha’ seen the end of a thing. ‘A’maist and very near,’ I’ve heard, ‘hae aye been great liars.’”

“All right, we’ll explore it as long as we can scramble,” Max rejoined cheerfully, and the three pushed on, enduring many a bump{27} and scratch on hands and toes, knees and elbows, in spite of their lamp light.

Before long, however, progress was completely blocked. A great mass of the roof had fallen where a crevice opened upward and sideways, and out of this crevice gushed a steady stream of water to swell that which trickled from lesser fountains elsewhere, and drained out along the bottom of the tunnel.

“Thus far and no farther. Satisfied, Sandy?”

“Oo, aye. ‘Down wi’ the lid,’ quo’ Willie Reid.”

They were turning back when Max asked them to wait a minute, and taking out a pocket-compass, he noted as well as he was able the direction the excavation pointed at that inner end.

“I suspect,” he explained, “that as it deepens this tunnel bends a trifle to the left—down the creek—on a slight curve following the vein. If so I want to know it.”

Making their way out, he took another{28} compass observation near the entrance and found he was right, though the bend was a slight one.

Before leaving the inner end, the two Americans had selected several specimens of the vein-rock from the sides and roof of the tunnel, and other pieces were gathered as they returned. When daylight was reached they spread these specimens out and talked them over, explaining to Sandy, who turned out rather wiser in respect to minerals than he had claimed to be, what were the prominent characteristics of each kind of rock represented.

A few of the fragments, showing some peculiar brown nodules and threads, they separated from the rest, and compared them with similar pieces taken from the overturned car-load on the dump, which had excited their attention before. None of the rock at the entrance had shown this characteristic; all pieces of that kind, they discovered, had come from the innermost depth.{29}

“If we could get past that barrier I think we should find much more of it,” Max remarked.

“We know well enough as to that,” Len replied, “for certainly that car-load was about the last one brought from the mine, and must show what the breast is made of.”

“What do you mean by the breast?” Sandy inquired.

“The rock across the end of the tunnel into which the digging is carried forward.”

“Well,” Max resumed, “the gangue there, judging by the car-load of specimens, contains more of this brown stuff than anything we saw as far as we went, so I think it is fair to conclude that it increases steadily in that direction, and that if the tunnel were pushed farther the whole vein would be seen, before very long, to be well impregnated with it, taking the place of this useless copper and quartz.”

“Can we not examine the outcrop?” Sandy asked, “and learn something from that?”{30}

The outcrop of a vein is that part of it which appears above the surface of the soil, or enclosing rocks,—crops out, as geologists say.

“I don’t know; perhaps so. It would do no harm to go and take a look at it.”{31}

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CHAPTER IV. MAX HAS AN IDEA.