Ben’s first impulse was to go home and change his clothes, which showed the contact of dust and soot; but it was past three o’clock and he was afraid if he did not make haste he would not see the proper authorities.
He stopped at Hodges’ shop to wash his face and hands.
Mr. Hodges was fitting a key to a metal box.
“Hello!” he remarked as Ben hurried past him to the rear of the shop. “You look as if you’d found your fortune already.”
“Maybe I have,” Ben replied. “I’ll let you know when I’ve verified the find.”
Mr. Hodge stared. He had a lurking suspicion that he was being made game of.
“A young feller always knows it all,” he commented. “He’s always so cocksure.”
“Wonder if I am that way,” thought Ben, as he pursued his way down the street. “Anyway, I’d rather fail than never have been through it. There’s something doing, and I’m in it!”
He was so preoccupied as he hurried along that once he narrowly escaped being run down by a whizzing electric car.
The prospect opening before him fairly made him dizzy with delight. He felt that he had suddenly become a man, and dimly wondered how it was possible that a month before he had played “shinny” and “pee-wee” with the other boys, as if there were nothing else to live for. And now—he had gone into business! He would succeed—he must succeed!
Mingled with his delight at his sudden good luck, there was a feeling ofrelief that he had resisted the temptation to go into debt.
At length he came in sight of the Custom House, a dilapidated brick building, the first floor of which was used as the main post-office. Ben slowly climbed the winding stone stairs. He suddenly wanted more time than the elevator would allow to think of how he should tell his story.
After a short delay he was ushered into the presence of the Collector of the Port. Ben explained his plan and his accidental discovery of the opium.
He fancied that the official and a gentleman who was sitting in the room seemed to be much more interested in his scheme to work over the bricks and rubbish of the old Smelting Works for gold, than they were in the discovery of the opium.
He noted that the visitor was addressed as “Mr. Hale,” and he wondered if he were the well-known lawyerof whom he had heard. This gentleman asked Ben several questions in relation to his plan; and although his eyes and voice were kind, the boy’s sensitive spirit shrank under the tone of the questioner. The amusement in his eyes seemed to foretell the failure of the venture.
The attention of the chief being called to other matters, he sent for a deputy to whom he referred Ben’s case. This official, also, appeared to be much interested in Ben’s private affairs, and plied him with questions, some of which were, apparently, irrelevant.
Nettled, he knew not why, by the man’s manner and questions, Ben finally asserted himself.
“I bought the property to work over for what I could get out of it,” he said. “By accident I found a lot of opium hidden on the premises, and I expect to get the thirty-three per cent. which the law allows.” The look whichaccompanied this speech said plainer than words, “Now, what are you going to do about it?”
Mr. Cutter meditatively regarded the speaker. “We’ll set a watch there to-night and catch some of the gang if we can,” he finally remarked. “You’re a pretty smart boy,”—he brought his hand down on Ben’s shoulder,—“can you keep a secret?”
Ben nodded.
“See that you do, then. And caution the friend who was with you to tell no one,—absolutely no one. Such news goes like wildfire.”
“We wouldn’t be apt to tell and run the risk of losing the reward.”
“Umph! Some folks couldn’t keep a secret if their lives depended upon it. That’s all,” he curtly added. “When I want you I’ll send for you.”
Without knowing why, Ben mistrusted this man. “Cutter is your name, and I sha’n’t forget you,” he saidto himself, as he retraced his steps to North Beach.
Mundon was anxiously awaiting his return.
“Did they snub you? Did you see the head?” he asked.
Ben related his experience.
“You were in luck to see the Collector,” commented Mundon.
“My belief is that the chief’s all right in such cases,—a big man who won’t stoop to no dirty business and who’ll listen to a feller’s story and treat him fair. He’s got a sense of what he’s ben put in office for, by the people, to serve the people. But a smarty clerk who takes delight in snubbing the people who really give him his bread and butter—deliver me from him! He’s gen’rally a failure, a ne’er-do-well, who’s got his place through his second cousin’s husband havin’ a pull, and because he couldn’t support himself and had to be taken care of byhis family,—and he just thinks he runs this whole government.”
“They’ll be here about dark, I suppose,” Ben remarked. “I’m going to watch, too.”
“Well, I think I’ll be excused,” Mundon remarked. “In my opinion, there ain’t one chance in a hundred of their catchin’ ’em.”
“Why shouldn’t they catch them if they come back here for the opium?” Ben innocently inquired.
“Why, boy, there’s more plaguey ramifications to a gang like that. From what you’ve told me, it wouldn’t surprise me to find that this man Cutter’s in it himself. Most likely every move you’ve made has ben known to ’em; and they’d hev taken the stuff away if they’d got a chance.”
All that night the Custom House men kept a watch at the Works.
Ben watched with them, looking off on the waters of the bay and listeningfor the dip of muffled oars. More than once he fancied he heard the smugglers approaching, and his heart beat fast as he waited to be sure before calling the men.
He felt a great distaste for his position, and correctly attributed Mundon’s refusal to join in the watch to the same reason. When morning dawned he experienced a distinct relief that nothing had occurred during the night to place him in the position of an informer.
The watch was continued for several nights, but in vain. As none came to claim the opium, it was taken away and a valuation of two thousand dollars was placed upon it, of which Ben’s share amounted to nearly seven hundred dollars.
It did not seem possible that those little boxes, filled with a sticky substance which looked like very black and thick molasses, could be worth so much. The readiness with which a broker advanced Ben the money due on his claim, however, was tangible evidence, and he found no fault with the exorbitant rate of interest exacted.
There was one phase of the affair that was most unpleasant to Ben,—the suspicion with which the Government officials regarded Mundon and himself.
“Some one blabbed,” one of them pointedly said to him, “or else the parties who stowed that stuff away would have come back for it.”
Another time he overheard one man remark to another, “I don’t agree with you. I think the boy’s honest enough; but that fellow with him looks like a slippery one.”
“But the boy’s the one who gets the reward.”
“I know. But that fellow’ll get it out of him before he’s through with him.”
A thought that this might be true came into Ben’s mind, but he dismissed it at once as unworthy. Yet it is hard to get rid of a vicious weed, and this doubt presented itself to him from time to time.
Mundon proved more useful to Ben as time went on and his own ignorance and inexperience became more marked. He congratulated himself many timesupon the good luck which had sent this man across his path.
“Gee-willikens, Mundon! How are we ever going to get this chimney down?” Ben looked up at the massive pillar of brick which reared itself above him. “It looks about a mile high, when you stand close to it. Why,” he added with a blank look, “it’ll take us months to level it.”
“You was a-calculatin’ to level it?” Mundon laconically asked.
“Of course. How else can we work over the bricks that are in it?”
“Um! How’d you think you’d git it down?”
“Well—that’s what’s worrying me. I had a sort of plan to scrape down the soot. But the bricks—how are we going to get at them?”
“Your idee is good—as fur as it goes; but I think I can give you a better one than scrapin’ the chimney of soot.”
“Let’s have it.”
“I’d rig a cross-piece—shaped just like a cross—to work inside the chimney, from a rope over the top, like an elevator.”
Ben caught his breath. “How would you ever get a rope over the top?” he asked.
“O, that’s easy. I haven’t ben a sailor fur nothin’. Then, I’d chip off the whole inside of the chimney.”
“We’d work just the inside?”
“That’s all we want, ain’t it? It’s the golden linin’ we’re after. We don’t want the rest.”
“No; and it will save time and strength to leave the rest alone.”
“We’ll leave the balance of the bricks for those that come after us. ’Twon’t hurt the chimney a mite, neither.”
“Mundon, you’re a brick!” exclaimed Ben.
Mundon waited a moment beforereplying. He liked the frank admiration that shone in Ben’s eyes.
“There ain’t nothin’ sure in this world, Ben, and it’s mighty oncertain sometimes to draw conclusions from things you’ve ben told. What’s more, you can’t b’lieve all you hear.”
“You’re preparing me to be disappointed, Mundon,” said Ben. “But I’m bracing myself for that, too. I know it’s a chance.”
“Most everythin’ is—’cept runnin’ a peanut-stand near a monkey’s cage.”
Ben laughed. “How you’re ever going to get a rope over that top?” He looked up and shook his head in despair.
“No fear—I’ll manage that. Just let me get some stuff for a scaffoldin’ and I’ll show you the trick in a jiffy.”
“You’re a wonder,” Ben replied.
The question as to what he should have done without Mundon’s help occurred to him again, but he did not express it.
“I heard when I was up town this mornin’ that there was goin’ to be a sale of mules to-morrow.”
“You think we’ll need one to work the arastra?”
“Couldn’t hev nothin’ better. This sale’s goin’ to be at a horse-market out near the Potrero. S’pose you see if you kin get one cheap.”
“Yes; I’ll go to the sale.” Ben paused. “I say, Mundon, what is cheap—for a mule?”
“’Bout fifteen dollars ought to git one good enough, at an auction.”
“That was about the figure I had in mind. Of course, I don’t ask your opinion, Mundon, so much to get advice as I do to compare notes. I like to see if your judgment and mine agree.”
Mundon did not look up, but went steadily on with his work. “I understand—of course,” he replied.
“A mule is very much like a horse, isn’t it?” Ben questioned, on the following morning.
“Yes; they are somewhat similar,” Mundon replied, going on with the task of untangling some old harness.
“Yet they’re different, too.”
“That’s so; they are.”
Ben did not like to admit his ignorance, but he very much desired some further information on the subject of mules before he entered the arena of the auction. He had a guilty consciousness that he had made Mundon feel that he resented his superior wisdom in many things connected with their undertaking, and that he was unreasonably jealous of his worldly knowledge. He regretted and was ashamedof his ingratitude toward this man who had proved invaluable to him, and he hoped that the other would overlook it.
“If you were going to buy a horse, Mundon, what particular points would you look for in the animal?”
“Well, I’d see that he had a broad forehead, good straight, clean legs, round hoofs, small ears, clear eyes, and, most of all, a wide chest. But, of course, these don’t hold good in a mule.”
“No; I suppose not.”
“Then, he oughter be in good perportion. I’ve seen horses with a fine-lookin’ front and a back all shrunk up. And I’ve seen some with a fine back and a front that had a stunted look. An animal like that ain’t apt to have much strength or wearin’ qualities. Then, there’s exceptions. I remember one of the best horses for pullin’ I ever saw had a sort of stunted front. But, of course, none of these things hold good in a mule.”
“No; nothing seems to apply to a mule.” Ben picked up a strap which dangled from the harness and began untangling it. “Haven’t the teeth something to do with it?”
“Sure! They’re the most important point, ’cause that’s the way you kin tell a horse’s age—by his teeth. If they’re long, he’s old. You want to see that they ain’t ben filed, too.”
“Do you think the point about the teeth would apply to a mule?” Ben asked.
“There ain’t nothin’ that applies to a mule except—patience. You’ve got to have everlastin’ patience when you come near a mule. But, they’re knowin’. Lordy! I’ve had ’em teamin’ up in the mountains when they knew a sight more’n most men. I’d talk to ’em just like they was humans. ‘Sal,’ I’d say, ‘don’t you know better’n to hug so close to that bank?’ And before the words was out of my mouth,Sal would be a-standin’ way off from the bank. And all I had to do to git one of ’em over the chain,—there’s a chain runs between ’em in place of a pole, you know, and mebbe I’d have sixteen or twenty strung along in pairs,—and if I wanted to git one of ’em over it I’d jest call out the name, and that mule would jump the chain quick as lightnin’. A horse has got a heap of sense, but, in my opinion, a mule kin discount him every time.”
“We’re safer, then, in buying a mule than a horse?”
“Law, yes! For the work you want done, you are.”
“Well, I’ll be going along, I guess,” remarked Ben. “I want to look over the field before the sale begins.”
“That’d be a good idee.”
Ben boarded an electric car which crossed the city. He was dubious as to his ability for the task he had undertaken, and regretted that he had notasked Mundon to go in his place. He ran over the directions for buying a horse.
“Round-hoofed, small-eared, broad-headed, clear-eyed, short-teethed, clean-legged, wide-chested, and good-proportioned,” he enumerated. “I’m primed for a horse-sale, if I ever need to go to one; but I’m all at sea about a mule.”
Mundon had seemed to be singularly averse to offering to make the purchase, Ben reflected, although he had been given ample opportunity to do so, and he was so well qualified to select exactly the animal needed.
He had appeared anxious to get Ben out of the way. Could it be possible that he meant to make the attempt to get the rope over the top of the chimney during his absence? How would he manage it? It seemed a colossal, impossible task.
The car clanged its bell along Kearny Street, whizzed across Market andswung into Third Street, on its way to the Potrero. A wild idea occurred to Ben. “If there’s a mule in the inclosure that points his ears at me, I’ll buy him,” he decided.
Association with his father had implanted superstition in the boy’s character. Ben had seen it sway his father many times, as indeed it exerted an influence more or less potent upon all miners.
A recollection of the sum he had resolved to expend reminded Ben that the occult must be confined within the limits of fifteen dollars.
“I don’t know the first thing about it, anyway, and I might as well be guided by chance as anything else,” he reflected.
He was a trifle ashamed of this decision, and half hoped that the mules themselves would render its execution impossible, by all laying back or all pointing their ears in unison.
When he entered the gate of the vacant lot where the sale was to be held, a rough-haired, forlorn-looking specimen of a mule raised two weather-beaten ears and disconsolately surveyed him.
“That settles it,” said Ben to himself. “After all it’s something to have the matter decided for one.”
The man in charge was anxious to show Ben the superior animals within the inclosure; but he manifested so little interest in them that their owner began to have doubts as to his being abona fidepurchaser.
“Like as not the rest will all go above my price,” thought Ben; “but I think I can get ‘Despair’—” for so he had designated the mule he had settled upon—“for fifteen.”
It was a long wait, and Ben was anxious to return to the Works; but the owner seemed to be in no hurry to begin, and, evidently, was waiting for a larger audience.
When a dozen or more men had arrived, the sale was opened. It was confusing, the way in which the auctioneer rattled on, discovering invisible buyers in corners and on the outskirts of the crowd.
Ben wondered how he should be able to keep his head when his time should come; and he realized that this thought made his heart beat rapidly.
He witnessed some close buying that was bewildering to the inexperienced, and he saw one man badly kicked by the glossiest, plumpest mule in the lot.
“Another mark in favor of ‘Despair,’” Ben noted. “You can’t tell anything by looks; but I don’t believe he’d do that.”
It was late in the afternoon before the mule which Ben had selected—or, rather, the mule which had selected Ben—was offered.
“We’ll start him at— What’ll we start him at, gentlemen?”
“Five dollars,” said a voice.
“Five dollars!” The auctioneer scornfully repeated. “Somebody here expects to get a good workin’ animal for nothing just because his coat’s a little rough. Five dollars would be just a-givin’ him away. Why, all he needs to be a playmate for the children is a clippin’ and a red ribbon tied round his tail. What am I bid, bid, bid—what am I bid? Ten dollars, young man, did you say?” He pointed to Ben, and the latter nodded.
“Here’s a young gentleman who knows a good animal for the saddle when he sees one.”
This sally brought a laugh from the crowd and added to Ben’s discomfiture.
“Ten dollars! Who’ll raise the bid? Twelve?” He pointed to a man on the edge of the group. “Who’ll give me twelve dollars for this reliable mule? Twelve dollars?”
“Fifteen,” said Ben.
A smile rippled over the faces of the crowd, and Ben became painfully conscious that he had made an error. He could feel his face growing uncomfortably warm.
“Fifteen dollars!” called the auctioneer. “Will no one raise it? Is there no one here wants this mule more than this young gentleman? Fifteen once—fifteen twice—fifteen three times, and sold to—”—he turned expectantly toward Ben,—“Mr.—”
“Ralston,” said Ben.
The money was paid, and Ben started for the Works with his purchase.
“You must hev wanted that mule powerful bad, young feller,” a bystander remarked, as the pair issued from the gate.
“Think so?” the boy replied, anxious to make his escape.
“Yes—it rather looks as though you did. To wait till the last and worst-lookin’ mule in the bunch wasoffered,” the man continued, “and then to raise your own bidtwice.” There was a laugh from the crowd. “You could hev got him for twelve dollars, sure, and you might hev got him for ten.”
“Well, that’s my affair,” Ben retorted.
He led the mule along a street in the direction of the city, not without a misgiving, however, as to the docility of the animal. A fear that he might balk or suddenly whirl and kick, to the amusement of the spectators, made Ben eager to increase the distance between the mule-market and himself.
It was a long distance from the Potrero to North Beach, for they marked opposite boundaries of the city, and Ben had ample opportunity for reflection. He made a detour and skirted the sea-wall, in order to avoid the more crowded streets. As he trudged along, the mule seemed docile and easily led;but Ben bought some carrots from a passing vegetable-wagon, to make assurance doubly sure.
He regretted that he had yielded to the impulse of trusting to chance. He was conscious that the act was unworthy and degrading, that he had taken a step backward.
“If I’m going to act in that fool way,” he said to himself, “there’s no telling where I’ll land. It’s as bad as the things Tom Sawyer did,—worse, because he didn’t trust an important piece of business to black art. It’s just the kind of thing that the lowest order of a negro would be capable of. But no one knows it,” he added with emphasis, “nor ever shall. ‘Despair’ and I can keep the secret. That name won’t do—it might hoodoo the scheme.” He turned and reflectively surveyed the mule.
“You’ve got to have a name that’s a winner. A cheerful, humming, booming sort of a name,” he said.
As if in reply, the animal raised his long ears and pointed them at his interlocutor.
When they reached Montgomery Avenue, where Mr. Hodges’ shop was situated, Ben pulled his hat over his eyes. He endeavored to hasten the pace of the mule. In this he was unsuccessful, but, fortunately, there was no one in sight whom he knew.
“If I were sure of success I wouldn’t mind the whole town’s seeing every move I make,” the boy reflected. “But it makes a heap of difference in people’s opinions whether you succeed or not. If you don’t, then, you’re looked upon as a fool, and everything you’ve done is fool-business; but if you do, then, you’re called wise, and everything you’ve done is smart as lightning.”
They reached the slight rise and began to descend toward the bay. Outlined against the vista of the blue water washing the base of the Sausalito hills, rose the massive pillar of the chimney.
Ben paused an instant in amazement. Mundon had been true to his word; for reaching from the top to the bottom was a cable that looked the thickness of a thread against the solid round bulk of the chimney.
Ben could hardly believe his eyes. How had it been accomplished?
He was obliged to control his impatience until the mule’s deliberate gait brought them at length to the Works.
“Mundon, where are you!” Ben called as he dashed into the building.
“Ahoy there!” A voice replied from the flue.
Peering up the mouth, Ben saw Mundon on a cross-piece which was fastened by two lines to the main rope, after the manner of a trapeze.
“I’ll do the chippin’,” Mundon remarked from his perch, about twenty feet from the ground. “Take your head away a minute and we’ll drive the first blow.”
Ben retreated and Mundon struck the chisel he held a blow that sent down a shower of soot, broken brick, and mortar.
“We’ll soon know now,” Ben said to himself, and his heart beat rapidly, when he thought of all it meant to him.
“We’ve got to find a place to keep the mule. It’s too cold to leave him outside,” said Ben.
“That’s easy,” Mundon replied. “One of the sheds’ll do first-rate. He’ll have a box-stall,—same as a racer.”
“I’ll fix it up for him right now. He looks sort of forlorn, tied out there in the fog,” said Ben.
“There’s two other animals we ought to find quarters for, too.”
“Two others? O, you mean ourselves.”
“Yes. With all this room goin’ to waste, why shouldn’t we get our room rent free?”
“That’s a good idea, Mundon. We’ll have to do it, or hire awatchman, as soon as we begin to work the stuff. We might as well get used to it first as last.”
“I’ll build the room for us. Over there against that east wall will be a good place for it.”
“Perhaps there won’t be anything to need watching,” Ben said, with a grim smile; “but we’ll soon know now.”
“There’s got to be somethin’. It ain’t in reason that there ain’t no gold left over in all this mess,” emphatically replied the other.
“Well, we’ll hope so, till we know to the contrary. We’ll have to have some furniture, I suppose.”
“Furniture?”
“Why, a couple of beds, anyway.”
“O, I’ll knock up a couple of bunks that’ll do for the time we’ll be here. I can make first-rate arm-chairs, too,—reg’lar sleepy hollers,—out of those barrels.”
“That’ll be fine! I suppose we’dbetter use the boards out of that first shed?”
“No; I’d put the mule in that one. Then he’d be farther away from our quarters. I’d knock down the second shed, the one where the roof is half gone. Found a name yet fur your mule?”
“I’ve named him ‘Alchemist.’”
“‘Alchymist’? Don’t that mean turnin’ no ’count things inter gold?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s ’propriate; ’cause he’ll work the ’rastra. Then, we kin call him ‘Alchy’ till we know the result; and if we don’t get anythin’ worth mentionin’ out of it we kin call him ‘Missed.’ That’ll be ’propriate, too.”
“‘Alchy’ goes, then. And here’s to be his home. I think I’ll leave one window for his professorship. We’ll separate his apartments from ours.” He struck the dilapidated shed a blow as he spoke.
“’Twill be more ’ristocratic,” observed Mundon. “S’pose I start the ’rastra while you’re doin’ that?”
“Wish you would. Everything seems unimportant—where we sleep or where the mule sleeps—compared to the real business.”
“A man’s got to be comfortable, or he can’t do good work. This here’s the best place for the ’rastra.” He took several long steps across a spot in the center of the floor. “I’ll level this off a little, so to have the floor of it even.”
“You’re going to use those bricks?” Ben pointed to some bricks which marked the location of the furnaces.
“I was calculatin’ to. But first we’ve got to remember that we’ve got to have a furnace, too.”
“We have? What for?”
“Why, we’ve got to melt our gold—after we git it.”
“O! Well, why not leave thatpart of the old furnace that’s standing there?”
“I was a-thinkin’ of doin’ that. We’ll build a rough chimney on the outside.”
“Then we’ll have to have a crucible.”
“Yes; that’s another thing I was goin’ to mention. Ever seen it done—gold melted in one?”
“Yes; I’ve been watching them do it in Smith’s assay office.”
“O, you have, have you?”
“Yes. And the other day I went to the Mint and saw a lot. Mr. Hale, the gentleman I met at the Custom House, gave me a card. It’s funny, Mundon, how different everything there looked to me from the last time I was there. Every schoolboy in this town goes, and of course I went; but it didn’t seem to me that I could be the same boy who’d been there. Everything interested me so much more this time.”
Mundon had been marking a circle in the center of the floor.
“Now, Ben,” he said, “we’re ready for the corner-stone, and you’re the proper person to lay it. You just git one of those bricks and put it here.” He struck the center of the circle a blow with his spade.
“I didn’t know you could corner a circle,” said Ben, as he placed a brick upon the spot indicated.
“You kin corner anythin’, if you only find out how to do it. There,” he added, with satisfaction, “the first brick’s laid. Now, she’ll go a-hummin’!”
“Let me help you,” said Ben. “It’s more interesting than building the mule-shed. I can fix that by-and-by.”
“All right.”
Mundon watched Ben lay the bricks.
“How clumsy I am!” the latter exclaimed when the bricks refused to lie evenly. “I’ve often watchedbricklayers at work. It looks as easy as breathing; but it isn’t,—not by a long sight!”
“It’s a trade,” Mundon laconically remarked.
“Then you must be Jack of them all,” said Ben, “for there’s nothing you can’t do.”
“I’ve ben in most of ’em. It’s mean to try to do things when you don’t know how. Sometimes, a job I wasn’t used to would take a powerful long time; though in the first stages, I thought I was workin’ mighty fast—a reg’lar lightnin’-striker.”
“Of course, anything that isn’t regular work takes longer.”
“Exactly. The more you work at a thing, the more skillful you git. Sometimes, when I’d git through with a new worrisome job, I’d wonder what I’d better tackle next. And ’t would always remind me of a story my mother used to tell ’bout a tailor who was apowerful slow worker, but thought he was lightnin’. He took a whole week to make a vest, and then said, ‘What’ll I fly at next?’”
During the following two weeks the partners were very busy. The arastra was finished and the furnace in readiness for the precious metals. Lastly, a pile of soot, brickdust, and mortar, representing a part of the lining of the chimney, and a retort and some quicksilver awaited the trial.
A fairly good sleeping-room, with a tiny galley adjoining, made the place comfortable.
Mundon proved to be a good cook, and Ben was fond of watching him at his culinary labors. The kitchen was constructed like the galley of a ship, and, when the cook was seated, everything was within his reach.
“I’ve been camping out in vacations,” Ben remarked; “but this beats that all to pieces.”
“It’s ’cause this combines business with pleasure,” Mundon replied, as he neatly cut long fingers of potato, preparatory to frying them. “There’s twice as much fun to be had in doin’ the work you really like to do than there is in anythin’ that’s called ‘fun.’”
“So I’ve found out.”
“Fun’s like society. When it hunts you,—comes of its own accord, natural like,—it’s fine. But when you hunt it, it don’t amount to shucks.”
“I guess you’re about right. I know I’ve never enjoyed anything in my life as I have this.”
“’Cause why? ’Cause it’s work you like. That’s the reason. But it takes some folks a lifetime to find that out; and even then they don’t see it.”
Ben was looking at the pile of rubble as if fascinated.
“How much longer before we know?”
“It won’t be long now, I reckon.”
“O, Mundon, how can I ever wait!”
On the following morning Mundon went down-town to make some necessary purchases.
“I heard something to-day,” he said, when he returned, “that I wish I’d known in the beginnin’.”
“What’s that?” inquired Ben.
“Why, you see, when I was inquirin’ ’bout the price of quicksilver I run up against a man as knew all about this sort of thing—or said he did. ’Course, I didn’t tell him our plan; but what he says is needed fur it is a jigger.”
“A what?”
“A jigger machine. I got him to describe it, and I think I’ve got enough idee as to how it’s made to make one myself. He’d used one, up in Nevada, he said.”
Mundon extracted a piece of chalk from his pocket, and on the board wall he drew a plan of the machine.
“Your jigger is a box made ofwood,” he said. “Well, really, it’s a tank—six foot long by four high. You fill it with water. At one end you have a tray filled with dirt and hung from a pole which is balanced by a weight at the end. T’ other end of the pole works up and down, like the handle of a bellus. The tray is dipped into the tank and all the loose dirt is washed out and the gold sinks to the bottom. That’s the coarse gold; you’ve got to ketch the fine gold on a table in the tank, under the tray. The waste dirt works inter the fur part of the tank. This man says—and he seems ter know what he’s talkin’ about—that you can’t git the val’able particles nohow, without a jigger.”
“What luck you were in to meet him!”
“Wasn’t I, though! I believe I’ll git the lumber,—it oughter be made out of new lumber,—and knock the thing together this afternoon,”Mundon replied, as he walked to the rear wall of the building. “Say, Ben,” he remarked, picking up a little of the earth from the floor and letting it sift through his fingers, “I think we oughter locate our find a little before we begin operations.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, this here place is like a ruin deserted by the folks who used to live here. For instance,” he pointed to some grass-covered excavations, “these were the furnaces.”
“Well,” said Ben thoughtfully, “then, if they followed the process used in all smelting-works, the bullion was melted in crucibles and cast into bars.”
“Exactly. Then, jest use your natural sense and think out how they got the bars ter the bullion-room? Why, they piled ’em on hand-cars and run ’em on a track.” He suddenly knelt down and ran his hand along the ground in front of the excavations. “Here’sthe groove where the track was laid,—sure’s you’re born!”
Ben dropped beside him. “There is a groove!” he cried. “We’re regular detectives, Mundon!”
“It couldn’t run anywhere else,” the other said, as if to himself.
“Than to the bullion-room? Of course, it couldn’t, and it didn’t. It ran over there, didn’t it?” Ben pointed to the opposite wall.
“Yes,” said Mundon, “it must. My! They were careless in those days, if this was like any smeltin’-works ever I see, and I s’pose it was. They jest slung the stuff ’round like it was mud. They always counted on losin’ lots of it in splashin’.”
“I should think so. With no flooring in the furnace-rooms and all this dust being trampled into the earth floor year after year, I should think they’d have lost a fortune!”
“Mebbe they did.”
“We hope so; for they made enough as it was.”
“You see, sometimes a furnace would get ter leakin’. Well, mebbe ’twould be quite a while before anybody found it out. Then, p’raps they’d run tons of base bullion inter a trench, thinkin’ they’d go over the ground when they got time. Um— Well, sometimes they never got the time, they was so busy makin’ money. We must look ’round, some time, fur traces of a trench of that sort.”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Ben, “that it would be a good plan to wash the soil here and there with an ordinary gold-pan. We could tell something, I should think, about where the richest dirt lay then.”
“’Twouldn’t do no harm. But the richest dirt is bound ter be near the furnaces and in the bullion-room. We’ll finish with the chimney first, ’cause if there are any nuggets they’ll be there.”
“Wouldn’t any tin pan do?”
“O, you better have the real thing. I see one a-hangin’ up outside of a junk-shop on Stockton Street that I’ll git when I go to git the lumber. Mebbe it might be a relic of ’49, and give you some of the spirit of those days. Not that you ain’t got the true minin’ spirit already,” he added, with a glance at Ben’s eager face.
On the following day the pan was purchased, and Ben was initiated, and became for the first time a real miner. He scooped some dirt from what was thought to be a favorable spot, put it in the pan, and poured some water upon it.
Mundon showed him how to shake the pan from side to side, allowing a little water to flow constantly from the top, until a small amount of very ordinary-looking dirt remained in the bottom. It was exhilarating to think of what it might contain.
“It looks exactly like the mud pies my mother’s boy used to make,” said Ben with an anxious air.
“There’s a little color there, or I’m mistaken,” Mundon wisely remarked, as he scanned the sediment.
“Yellow’s the color I’m looking for.”
“Well, there’s some yellow in that. Hold it up to the light. Now, it does shine! I’ll be hanged if it don’t!”
“Goodness knows, I want to see it as much as any one!” said Ben; “but I’m afraid this is too much like imagination. It reminds me of the time people thought they saw flying-machines in the sky.”
Mundon shook his head. “I ain’t that kind,” he remarked, as he returned to his work of constructing the “jigger.” “After all,” he continued, “you can’t tell much about it till you make the ’speriment in the proper way. This machine’ll settle it one way or the other.”
He worked rapidly and skillfully, and by the following night the “jigger” was completed.
“My!” he exclaimed as he drove the last nails. “It was luck, blind luck, my meetin’ that feller and his tellin’ me jest exactly what I wanted to know!”
“One thing will be very funny,” said Ben. “I was just thinking that we’ll have to ship our bullion—when we get it—up to the Searby Smelting Works at Vallejo to be resmelted and cast into bars. They were the original owners of it.”
“Funny enough for us,” Mundon replied. “But I don’t count on shippin’ ’em any.”
“How’ll we get it into bars?”
“I’ll git it into bars, myself. You didn’t know that I was an assayer, too, did you?”
“No,” Ben thoughtfully replied. “I think I’ve found my trade at last. Mundon, if I’ve got brains enough I’ll be an assayer.”
“Why not a mining engineer? Might as well aim fur the highest while you’re about it.”
“That’s so. But that takes more money. If I get enough out of this, I’ll try for it.”
“It’s nearly time for us to know ’bout where we stand,” remarked Mundon, as he flung several shovelfuls of mortar, brickdust, and soot into the “jigger.” He then added some quicksilver to the mass. “There, I guess that’ll do fur this time. Now, we’ll churn the cream and see if we kin git any butter.”
“Perhaps it isn’t cream,” Ben suggested, more to hear Mundon reassure him than anything else.
“No; p’raps it ain’t,—p’raps it’s only skim milk. Well, in that case we won’t git any butter. But I’m a-bettin’ on it’s bein’ cream.”
When Mundon took some of the amalgam from the dirty water and washed it clean, Ben knew that the time of reckoning had arrived.
“Ain’t feelin’ faint, are you, Ben?” Mundon facetiously inquired. “I orter brought some smellin’-salts along. Well, I’ve got a ticklish sort of feelin’ myself.”
He placed the amalgam in a piece of buckskin. This he squeezed until the larger part of the quicksilver had been pressed through the skin.
He did not tell Ben, but he knew from long experience that the result was satisfactory. Ben read his thoughts in his face.
“Tell me it’s all right, Mundon! I can see by your face that it is, but I’d like to hear you say it! Tell me!”
“There’s gold in this ball—or I’m not alive,” the other replied.
“Wo-o-w!” Ben flung his cap among the rafters, and, seizing the ball of amalgam, he sent it after the cap.
“Here, young feller, don’t you go plumb crazy! That’s heavy! Want ter kill us? Give me that ball—I ain’t through with it yet.”
Ben returned the ball. “I had to let off steam or bust!” he said.
“Now, we’ll see what we’ll see,” said Mundon, as he repeated the process he had followed with the first handful of amalgam, until he had three good-sized lumps.
“The gold’s inside of them?” Ben asked.
“Course it is,—that is, we’ve reason to s’pose so.”
“How ever are we going to get it out! I say, Mundon, I’d have made a pretty fizzle of this business without you.”
“You’d have had to found somebody else, that’s all,” Mundon modestly replied.
“Next, I take the retort,—see that it’s cold,—and chalk it well. Watch me, Ben,—most anybody can set an egg on end after they’ve seen it done. Next, I wrap these here baseballs—base is good!—in paper and put ’em inthe retort,—so. Then I jam the cover down tight. Now, give me a lift, Ben. This here’s pretty heavy, I reckon.”
The retort did not seem heavy to Ben as they lifted it to the furnace; and he concluded that Mundon had asked him to help him, in order that he might feel that he was more than a spectator.
“He’s got the finest feelings,” Ben said to himself. “He’s always trying to make a fellow feel comfortable.”
They built a roaring fire in the furnace.
“Now, you kin tend that fire fur two hours, Ben,” said Mundon, “while I go down-town and see ’bout gittin’ some more coal and a few little things we need. I’ll be right back. Don’t forget—you got to keep that there retort red-hot the whole time.”
“Yes, yes. And then what do we do?”
“Well, you got to keep the retortred-hot for two hours, as I told you, just a dull red-hot; but at the last you pile on the coal till it’s a reel cherry-red.”
“And after that?”
“O, I’ll be here to show you what to do afterwards.”
During the following two hours Ben watched the furnace and plied it with coal. A rap on the doors attracted his attention, and he admitted Beth and little Sue.
“Mother asked us to tell her when you got the first gold from your Golconda. Have you got any yet?” Sue asked. “I know what that means, too, for Beth told me the story.”
“Not yet, Sue,” Ben replied. “Maybe you’re just in time to see some, though. We’re nearly ready to open the retort.” He flung in a shovelful of coal. “I’m glad you came down, Beth, to see it; for if we get any it’ll be the result of your idea.”
“Nonsense, Ben! O, Sue,” she exclaimed as she looked up the long funnel of the chimney to where it pierced the blue sky, “think of any one’s sitting on those little sticks and being hoisted up that frightful distance! It makes me dizzy to think of it. How did you ever get the rope over the top?” she inquired of Ben.
“Mundon did it,” Ben explained, “one day, when he sent me off to buy the mule.”
“Did he climb up on the outside?”
“No, goosey; of course not. He built a rough scaffolding inside, somehow, as he went along, until he could throw a rope over the top. The rest was easy.”
“And is he going to chip off the whole inside? O-o-h! How can he bear to sit on that thing and let you haul him to the top?”
“O, he doesn’t mind it; he’s been a sailor. He says it’s safer than lotsof high places he’s been in, because there’s no wind.”
So interested had all three been in peering up the chimney that they had not noticed the entrance of several men who were curiously inspecting the interior.
Sydney Chalmers was one of them; and while Ben was annoyed by his presence at this particular time, he did not like to ask him to leave.
Syd walked about with a supercilious stare which so irritated Ben that he relieved his feelings by flinging shovelfuls of coal into the furnace.
The two hours were nearly up, and Mundon must soon return.
One of the self-invited visitors proved to be a reporter who walked about, notebook in hand, scanning the surroundings.
When Mundon returned, Ben suggested that the strangers be asked to leave; but Mundon did not approve of this.
“It never did anybody any harm to be on the good side of the newspapers, and it gen’rally does a body heaps of harm to be on the bad side of ’em,” he sagely remarked. “Let him get his scoop. That’s a real cherry-red,” he added as he looked at the retort. “Give us a hand, Ben.”
They lifted the retort from the furnace.
“It’s got to chill now,” said Mundon, and he turned his attention to the reporter, whom he regaled with such Munchausen tales that that experienced gentleman had hard work to separate fiction from fact.
“S’pose you think your fortune’s in sight?” Syd contemptuously looked at the retort.
“I hope so, Syd; and I know all my friends do, too,” Ben replied.
“Hoping’s cheap.”
Ben turned away. “Isn’t it cool enough yet?” he called to Mundon.
“Reckon it is,” said Mundon. “Now, when I knock off the cover, we got to jump back quick as lightnin’. The fumes of quicksilver’s deadly, you know.”
“All right. Knock her off!” Ben responded.
“You folks better stand well back,” Mundon said to the others.
He struck the cover a few hard blows, and as it flew off they sprang back to a place of safety.
“Whew! This is being an alchemist with a vengeance! Fancy our turning that old rubble into gold!” Ben said to Mundon, who was holding him by the arm. “O, I say, isn’t it time to see, now?”
“I guess so. Come along.”
Visitors and workmen eagerly crowded around the retort. A little sponge of gold was all that remained in it.
Mundon took it out and weighed it while the others curiously watched him.
Ben was visibly horribly disappointed. He had a sickening conviction that the whole thing was a failure. He could read the triumph in Syd’s face, and it cost him an effort to put on a bold front and see them all through the gates.
“It’s no go, I’m afraid,” he whispered to Beth. For answer she pressed his hand. He closed the gates and turned to Mundon.
“Well,—it’s a failure. You needn’t tell me—I know it.”
“Failure? No, ’tain’t a failure.”
“Are you saying that to let me down easy?”
“Before God, I ain’t! Why, boy, what you got tears in your eyes fur? Brace up and be a man!”
“I’m trying to, Mundon.” Ben’s voice shook.
“I dunno what’s this all about? Did you expect that there crucible’d be half-full of gold? Mebbe youthought ’twould be plumb full.” There was no reply. “Why, on a rough calculation, I reckon this undertakin’ ’s goin’ to come out all right.”
“You mean that it’s going to pay?”
“’Course I do. What ails you?”
“It seems such a small quantity,” Ben faltered.
“It’ll seem smaller yet, when it’s cast in a bar. I’ve got to melt this again to git it into shape. Besides, I reckon ’bout half of it’s silver.”
“Silver! And silver’s worth only fifty cents an ounce!” Ben sat down on some lumber and gloomily watched Mundon melt the gold in a crucible.
“Yes, so ’tis; but gold’s worth twenty dollars an ounce. Didn’t expect ’twould be all gold, did you? I’m a-figurin’ roughly on the tons of stuff you’ve got in sight and the amount of gold you’ve got out of one jiggerful, and—you’ve got a goodthing all right, Ben. But you’re just like all kids,—beggin’ pardon,—onreasonable.”
On the night following the first clean-up, Ben was awakened about midnight. He had been sleeping so heavily that for some minutes after awakening he did not realize where he was. Then the outlines of the rough walls of the room and the regular breathing of Mundon recalled him to his surroundings. He was too wide-awake to sleep again, and he reviewed the events of the day, and then fell to speculating upon the plans for the morrow.
Suddenly he sat bolt upright, every faculty alert. There was a sound of stealthy footsteps in the outer room.
Ben knew now the cause of his sudden awakening. Some one had entered the building, and was creeping aboutsearching for—what? “The gold!” he instantly replied to the question.
Ben knew that Mundon had placed the gold in a box underneath his bunk. There was so little of it as yet that this had been thought to be a sufficiently safe place.
Should he awaken Mundon? It hardly seemed necessary. He crept from his bed and crossed the room to the door. The stealthy footsteps could be heard at intervals, as though the person constantly paused to listen. The noise appeared to come from the corner of the building in which the “jigger” was situated; and Ben concluded that the man was searching there for the gold. Feeling that he could keep quiet no longer, Ben grasped Mundon’s arm.
“Hush!” he whispered. “Don’t speak! Some one’s out there—looking for the gold!”
Mundon was thoroughly awake in aninstant. Together they crept to the door. The noise suddenly ceased, and there followed a long interval of silence.
“I’m afraid we’ve frightened him off,” whispered Mundon.
Just then a slight sound told them that the burglar was still there. A flash of light through the cracks of the door told them that he carried a dark lantern.
“Be ready!” Mundon directed. “I’ll unlock the door and we’ll rush for the gates!”
He unlocked the door and the partners tore across the rough floor to the gates. They were somewhat surprised to find them locked.
“Who’s there? Stop, or I’ll fire!” cried Ben.
They listened, trying to locate the intruder in the darkness; but the silence following this challenge remained unbroken.
“He must hev run up the beach toclimb the bulkhead,” said Mundon. “I’ll go out and head him off. You stay here and watch. If he’s hidin’ here, and makes a sound, you call me.”
Left alone in the darkness, Ben fancied several times that he heard the burglar moving in the black shadows of the interior. But a careful investigation, with the aid of a lantern when Mundon returned, proved that the place was empty.
“I don’t see how he could hev got over that bulkhead so quick,” Mundon remarked, as he related his unsuccessful attempt to capture the man. “Must hev ben mighty lively, and an acrobat in the bargain, to git out of sight in that time. Let’s see what mischief he’s ben up to.”
The “jigger” was undisturbed, but they found footprints in the moist ground near the furnace.
“Mebbe he came in a boat,”Mundon suddenly suggested. “Mebbe he wasn’t after our gold at all.”
Ben stared in surprise. “Not after the gold!” he exclaimed. “Then what in thunder was he after?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“No.”
“Well, I was thinkin’ that mebbe there’s more opium hidden away here that we ain’t found.”
“Opium!”
“Well, we found one lot here. Why shouldn’t we find some more. Who’s to say that we found all there was stowed here?”
“They would have taken it away before this.”
“How could they? They didn’t dare come back while there was a chance of them Custom House fellers bein’ ’round. And lately we haven’t let this place out our sight.”
“That’s so,” replied Ben. “You think there’s more opium hidden somewhere round this furnace?”
“That’s it.”
“Well, I’ll take out those loose bricks in the morning—those on the side next the water, that we didn’t touch.”
In the morning a thorough search was made, but no opium was found. No satisfactory explanation of the presence of the midnight visitor offered itself, but matters of greater importance soon occupied the thoughts of the partners.
News of the venture spread. The scoop was read by thousands, and many of the curiously inclined were attracted to the spot.
On the second day the crowd was so large that Ben was compelled to close the gates. There were several reporters, who took notes, photographed Ben and the interior of the building, and interviewed the partners as to their enterprise.
Although Ben was feeling better, he was not entirely at ease. The whole thing seemed so theatrical. It was like working on the stage of a theater. Besides, he was not yet assured of success.
While the presence of spectators was flattering, it was rather embarrassing to the workmen. They would have preferred to have made their clean-up without an audience. Skepticism, along with curiosity, was written on the faces of all. And, like all sensation-seekers, they withheld any decided opinion until the result should be known.
In imagination Ben could already hear the jeering laughter of the crowd over his failure, and this added to his nervousness. His cheeks were flushed with excitement, and he stole over to where Beth and little Sue were standing and said in an anxious whisper, “It’s just awful not to know how it’s going to pan out!”
When at length the crucial momentarrived, and he saw Mundon scoop up some particles of yellow metal with one hand while with the other he waved his hat, everything seemed to swim before Ben’s eyes.
The crowd gave a hearty cheer, in which he joined as if in a dream.
It was pleasant to be congratulated; and it must be confessed that the boy miner enjoyed being looked upon as a marvel of enterprise.
Old Madge appeared to be wonderfully interested in the proceedings; and Ben did not quite like the expression of his countenance when he looked upon the gold. Neither did he like a look of envy which could be seen upon the faces of some others.
“Can’t please everybody,” Ben said to himself, with a shrug. “Some people never like to see any one else succeed.”
The rest of it was pleasant enough. There was a sort of Fourth-of-Julyexcitement about it that was most exhilarating.
After the last hanger-on had gone and the gates were shut for the night, Mundon remarked that he would go down-town to get a new fitting that was needed.
“We got twice as much gold to-day as we did yesterday,” he said as he turned to go. “Mebbe we’ll get twice as much as this to-morrer—it’s bound to vary. But, anyway, we’re all right. Well, so long! I’ll be back inside of an hour.”
“So long!” Ben replied.
Left alone on the scene of his triumph, Ben surveyed the mass of rubbish and endeavored to estimate how much it would yield.
He had supposed himself to be alone, and was surprised to see a Chinaman standing in the opening above the little strip of beach.
“What do you want here?” Ben demanded.
“I come to see you on business,” the man replied in excellent English.
“How’d you get here?”
“O, I come in when other people come; and I wait till your partner go, because I want to see you alone.”
With a quick motion of his arm the man threw back one of his voluminous sleeves and pointed with his claw-like fingers to the roof and walls. Ben noted that his dress marked him as a member of the ordinary merchant class of Chinese.
“You work with the bricks and dirt,” he said, pointing to the piles of rubbish. “What you intend to do with building?”
Ben’s suspicions were aroused. “He wants to drive some bargain with me about that opium business,” he thought.
“O, I’ll sell it for lumber to some builder, I guess,” he indifferently replied.
“Not worth very much.”
“No; not very much.”
“I notice you have plenty of room here; so I think perhaps you like to rent this place to me to store my goods.” He darted one of his capacious sleeves inside his blouse and drew forth a card, which he handed to Ben.
“I give you my card.”
Ben glanced at the card. “Ng Quong Lee, Fruitpacker; Factory, 792 Jackson Street,” it read.
“I shall be here for only a short time,” Ben said. “The lease of this building expires in a few months. Besides, you couldn’t store anything here; there are too many holes in the walls and roofs.”
“O, that wouldn’t matter,—my goods are canned. My factory too crowded at this time of year. Fruit season now, you know. For a few months I like to rent another place.”
“I’m sorry I can’t accommodate you,” Ben said, turning away, “but I need all the place myself.”