The 
 
 Gold Bug Story 
 Book 
 
 MINING CAMP TALES BY 
 A WESTERN WRITER 
 DENNIS H. STOVALL 
 
 Author of 
 Suzanne of Kerbyville," "Tales of Old, Tales of Gold," etc. 
 
Stories Copyrighted by 
 
 Reinert Publishing Company 
 
 , Denver, Colo. 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 rHE stories here collected, and which have been pub 
 lished previously as individual stories in The Daily 
 Mining Record, are designed to portray both the 
 "inside" and the "outside" of the noble fellows of the mines 
 and of the danntlc** men of tJie trail. Some reader may try 
 to locate "Gold Bug." It has a place on the map. But 
 whether it is in California or Colorado or Nevada doesn t 
 matter. You who hare packed a burro or shoveled gravel 
 into a sluice, who hare iri elded a jack, or waited at the collar 
 of the long dark shaft for the shift to go down, have been 
 there. You hare heard the thunder of its mill and the "chug, 
 chug," of its compressor; you have heard the yarns around 
 the bunk house store, and have sat down to the boiled beef 
 <ui tl beans of the "chuck house" board. If you are a miner 
 you need no introduction to Slivers the stage driver, to 
 Hudson the super, or to the Old Woman of the boarding 
 house, for you are already intimately acquainted with them. 
 
 The greatest battles ever fought are those in which 
 America s army of miner* an<l mining men engage; yet they 
 are fighting them unknown lo the world. It is an army of 
 soldiers of honest toil, an a run/ of marti/rs that does not 
 know defeat, that is fighting mountains and making straight 
 the way for others to follow that is unlocking the treasure 
 ran I is of Nature to increase the riches of the world. 
 
 To you who have mined and are a soldier in this army, 
 and to your friend and the friends of your friend, "The 
 Gold Bug Story Book" is dedicated. If you can get one little 
 heart throb out of it, the author will feel that his work of 
 writing it has not been done in vain. 
 
 DENNIS II. STOVALL. 
 
 921843 
 
Printed by 
 
 The Reinert Publishing Company 
 Denver, Colo. 
 

 MILLIE AND THE 
 THOROUGHBRED 
 
 
 great events have occurred in Gold Bug: One 
 was the discovery of the Irish Girl lode; the second 
 was the arrival of Millie; and the third but that 
 should come at the end of the story. 
 
 The news of Millie s coming reached camp on a Sunday 
 afternoon, when all the night shift diggers were in the Dew- 
 drop imbibing gooseberry champagne. The mucker, who was 
 the happy and exclusive possessor of the news, was unable 
 to catch the ears of the crowd because of the liquor-fevered 
 bedlam. 
 
 Both the weather and the liquor being hot, a squabble 
 was a very natural proceeding; and after the fifth line-up, 
 an impromptu ring was formed with Hudson, the super, and 
 Jim Nason, "the Thoroughbred," in the center. Jim was an 
 Easterner, and because of his genteel manners and general 
 good behavior was dubbed "the Thoroughbred." 
 
 Jim never courted trouble, and the grievance this time, 
 as usual, was all with Hudson. The nature of it was not 
 clear to anyone, and to Hudson least of all. As a matter of 
 truth he did not like The Thoroughbred. Just why this was 
 so none could understand, but all knew that there would some 
 day be a settlement. 
 
 On this occasion Hudson went just a little farther than 
 customary with his tirade, and called Jim a something-or- 
 other liar. Of course, Jim couldn t take that sort of talk 
 without resorting to an immediate exercise of the index 
 finger of his right hand. 
 
 Two pistols were drawn, but as the crowd had strong 
 objections to indiscriminate shooting, there was a quick and 
 general scamper for the safe side of whiskey barrels. No 
 one was unsportsmanlike enough to wish the fight stopped, 
 nevertheless, the persistent manner effected an immediate 
 
10 THE GOLD BUG 8TORY BOOK. 
 
 suspension of hostilities by taking advantage of the lull and 
 yelling: 
 
 "I say, there s a woman comin to camp." 
 
 "A woman ? What ! Comin to Gold Bug ?" chorused 
 a score of voices from behind the barricades. 
 
 "Yes, a woman, a real female woman/ the mucker 
 assured with supreme confidence. "She s a darter of the 
 boss. I was jest now down to the office, where the bookkeep 
 was phonin to Boulder. From his talk into the phone fun 
 nel, I take er to be a gal from Frisco. She s comin on this 
 afternoon s stage." 
 
 Every man stood up and began to tidy himself. Hudson 
 forgot his grievance, and returned his revolver to his pocket. 
 By the rules of the game this called off the bout, and the two 
 candidates for the graveyard joined the crowd in slapping 
 dust from their clothes with hats and gloves. 
 
 A rush was made for the camp store, for all thought of 
 the blacking brush at the same moment. There was only 
 one in stock. Ike Blumberg, the storekeeper, with a keen 
 eye to business, put it up at auction. It was knocked down 
 to Jim Nason for a dollar-fifty. The Thoroughbred also 
 had the distinction and the advantage of owning the only 
 biled shirt within 40 miles of Gold Bug. 
 
 In the bunkhouse the activity of preparation bordered 
 on a panic. The wardrobe of the miners was stocked more 
 with a view to utility rather than ornamentation, and the 
 di sad vantage to which, the diggers were put in an attempt 
 to beautify themselves was almost pitiable. Every man in 
 cani}> needed a hair-cut and a shave, and nearly everyone en 
 dured untold agony trying to get them. There was two 
 pairs of shears in the bunkhoiise, and both had served all 
 purposes from trimming the lamp wicks to cutting sheet 
 iron. The razors would scarcely whittle a stick, and most of 
 them had been used for that purpose. To remove a month s 
 growth of whiskers with such instruments of torture put the 
 nerves of the bravest of them to the test. 
 
 To most of the diggers of Gold Bug it seemed ages since 
 they last saw a "real female woman," as the mucker styled 
 this one. True, there was Aunt Mollie, otherwise known as 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 13 
 
 "The Old Woman/ who kept the camp boarding house. But 
 she did not count. As Jake Simpson, the foreman, once de 
 clared, "she had a shape like a side o bacon, and put on 7 er 
 clothes with a pitchfork." 
 
 And so now that a prim, young woman (as all knew 
 the daughter of the boss must be) was coming to camp, the 
 men, with the natural instinct of males of every species, set 
 most industriously to trimming their plumage. 
 
 Hard and fast as they worked, there were still three men 
 waiting for the blacking brush when the stage was heard ratt 
 ling up the road. On Sunday it reached the camp an hour 
 early, as briefer stops were made at the stations. 
 
 Silvers, the red-haired driver, puffed with importance, 
 cracked his long whip over the leaders and brought the old 
 Concord up and around the curve on two wheels. He did 
 not see the group of waiting men at the store; and instead 
 of pulling up the stage to toss the mail bags down, he swung 
 across the camp and drew rein in front of the boarding house. 
 
 The newly-washed crew moved silently across the white 
 tailings pile ~fo inhere the coach stood. At first there was a 
 scramble for the honor of helping the lady out, but at the 
 crucial moment, the nerves of all failed, and all withdrew 
 except Hudson and The Thoroughbred. After a parry or 
 two, Nason backed out and left the honors to the big super, 
 who, hat in hand, and dressed in his best suit of corduroy, 
 was bobbing his head in and out of the stage door in an at 
 tempt to bow. 
 
 Then out stepped the lady, her small, gloved hand in 
 Hudson s big paw. She wore a long traveling coat and veil. 
 Just as her dainty feet touched the ground she lifted her 
 eyes to the crowd and smiled. Each digger of the camp be 
 lieved the smile was for him. 
 
 "Ts this Mr. Hudson?" she asked. 
 
 "I am Hudson," the super replied, with another bob of 
 his head. "The boarding house is right here. Aunt Mollie 
 will get your room ready. As super of Gold Bug, I heartily 
 welcome you. The boys here are a rough gang, but their 
 hearts are in the right place." 
 
 "Oh, thank you, thank you," said she, prettily. "F am 
 
U THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 sure I will enjoy my stay out here very much. But I am 
 tired and dusty after my long ride, and will go to my room. 
 I hope to get better acquainted with all of you/ 
 
 She threw another bewitching smile at the crowd and 
 retreated toward the house. 
 
 Silvers made an extraordinary attempt to bow, and in 
 discreetly backed against the near wheel horse. The animal 
 resented the undue familiar, and put out his hoof with a 
 suddenness that shot Silvers across the yard. 
 
 This broke the strained tension of formality under which 
 the crowd had been held and all enjoyed a heart} 7 " laugh at 
 Silvers" expense. 
 
 When the girl disapepared into the hoarding house, the 
 crowd returned to the Dewdrop. 
 
 "She s four-ace high, and no mistake," declared Hank 
 Fetterly, who was known down in Reno as "Faro Fett." 
 
 "Say, did you see them eyes?" asked Sid Barlow. "A 
 gaze from em gives a feller a feelin like bavin warm milk 
 spilt down the back of his neck." 
 
 "An hoofs," chirped in Shorty Sanders, the camp roust 
 about. "Why, her two feet ain t as big as my thumb." 
 
 "Well, boys," said Hudson, "whatever you have to say 
 about Millie, which is her name, remember she s a lady, a 
 lady clean through, from hatpin to slipper. Why, I used to 
 know that girl when she was a little thing carried er on 
 my shoulder trotted er on my knee. That was before er 
 pap made his pile, and when him and me were plugging ore 
 out in the Yellow Poppy on the Mother Lode." 
 
 The big super paused, that the startling information 
 might be thoroughly Imbibed. Then he tapped himself 
 boastfully and continued : "I m a little old to be in the 
 game, but from this time on I m Mr. Ilufus B. Hudson, and 
 my cap s set for the girl we all call Millie. Every digger 
 come up and wish me luck. Mr. Barkeep, take your hammer 
 to that." He dropped a twenty on the bar, and the men 
 filled their glasses to the rim. 
 
 Promptly on Monday the stage began bringing in 
 trinkets for Millie. Hudson was become of the idea that he 
 was a lady s man, and he piled Millie s room with everything 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 17 
 
 a girl ever wanted, together with a lot of useless duffle no 
 girl could find use for. 
 
 Aunt Mollie was pleased. Hudson, the big. buffalo of 
 a super, was a great man in her eyes, and she shoved Millie 
 forward to everything he brought her. 
 
 But Hudson was far from winning the girl s favor. She 
 took his presents just because he was "papa s friend." As a 
 matter of truth she cared but little for him. He tried to 
 believe he was winning her, and boasted of it around the 
 mine, but it was a dream that would not last. 
 
 He took to brooding when the girl refused to see him. 
 One day she walked up the trail to the shafthouse with The 
 Thoroughbred and pinned a mountain daisy to his canvas 
 coat when he mounted the cage to go down. 
 
 Hudson was badly broken up by the new turn of things. 
 He realized he had a poor chance when matched against Jim 
 Nason, whom he styled the "dude miner." When Millie re 
 fused the last load of trinkets, the super moped around the 
 camp with his head down, like a mad Indian. 
 
 When Hudson and The Thoroughbred met on the trail, 
 both kept a finger on the trigger, and neither said a word. 
 
 Hudson ceased his useless attentions to Millie and set 
 about devising a means to rid the camp of The Thorough 
 bred. He could easily dismiss him. But Hudson never dis 
 missed a good miner. Though Jim Nason was tall and hand 
 some, and always wore a necktie, he was just four holes 
 better, on his shift, than any other man of the crew. There 
 was not another man on the Irish Girl lode who could swing 
 a jack like Jim Nason. 
 
 One evening Hudson had the day shift lined up in the 
 Dewdrop. The super had been brooding all afternoon, and 
 was drinking whiskey like water because of some slight Millie 
 had shown him. The Thoroughbred entered the saloon just 
 as Hudson opened a tirade against dude miners in general 
 and Jim Nason in particular. 
 
 "Why in thunder didn t you ring the door bell?" Hud 
 son asked loudly, when Nason came in. "You give us a flir 
 tation of the heart, sneakin in here like a bob-cat." 
 
 The Thoroughbred paid no heed, and was deaf to the 
 
18 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 laughing jeer that followed. He gave the crowd no look, but 
 sauntered to the back end of the place and idly toyed with 
 the poker chips on a battered table. 
 
 "Must be deaf," one man suggested. 
 
 "Little s the difference anyhow," Hudson continued. "A 
 dude will never answer you ; but a man will." 
 
 The Thoroughbred dropped the chips, and turning on 
 his heel, came back to the group at the bar. Quietness at 
 once fell on the crowd. There was a strange glare in his eye. 
 Never had lie seemed so tall and powerful. Hudson shud 
 dered when the "dude miner" stood over him, putting a long 
 finger close by his nose. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Nason. "I have heard every word that 
 has been spoken since I came in here, and let me tell you that 
 I have no Tear of you. I would like to know your trouble. 
 1 think I can just about guess it when I tell you it s whiskey. 
 When you re a little more sober, come around and we ll talk 
 it over. If there s a difference between us, I want it settled, 
 and the quicker it is done the better it will suit me." 
 
 Hudson s dark face turned pale. He liked pluck. Deep 
 down in his heart he knew he ought to like Nason. He 
 finished his drink, and was making ready to answer when a 
 miner poked his head through the door and yelled: "The 
 foreman wants you up at the mine, Hudson. There s a bad 
 slip on the 800." 
 
 Instantly the super forgot his row. The Gold Bug was 
 above everything to him. "Are thev catching up with err" 
 lie asked. 
 
 "Catch up, the devil!" the miner replied. "N~othin 
 can hold er ! All the boys are out !" 
 
 "The lazy cowards ! Hudson roared. He dashed 
 through the door and up the trail. "We ve got to hold er ! 
 If that stope comes in the shaft and lower level will be 
 choked for a month." 
 
 All of .the night shift was huddled around the collar of 
 the shaft; driven from the mine by the sinking wall below. 
 Xot one would return. 
 
 Simpson, the foreman, was desperately trying to find 
 Iwo men to go below with him and drive the slip back. 
 
THE GOLD HL T G STORY BOOK. 19 
 
 "There s no use. We can t catch up with er," said one 
 of the crew, hopelessly. 
 
 Hudson and the foreman stepped on the cage. "We 
 want another man!" they cried. 
 
 The crew drew back. 
 
 "Quick !" yelled Hudson, as he reached for the bell wire. 
 
 "Hold a second !" said a voice from down the trail, and 
 a man, charged up and leaped aboard the platform. 
 
 "Ding ! Ding !" sounded the engineer s bell, and the 
 cage dropped down the shaft. 
 
 Hudson lighted his candle on the way down, and held 
 it aloft. 
 
 "Damme, if it ain t the dude!" he exclaimed, when his 
 candle revealed the white, smooth-shaven face of The Thor 
 oughbred. "I like your stuff anyhow." 
 
 "Here we are," Simpson announced as the cage stopped 
 with a jerk on the 800-foot level. "And it s hell we re in, or 
 I m a fiddler." 
 
 With candles lighted, the three stepped into the dark 
 tunnel. It was like stepping into a black, intensely black 
 thunder cloud. All around and above them the mountain s 
 heart throbbed and palpitated, loosening the earth and drop 
 ping 1 quartz shale like leaves in a windstorm. 
 
 The noise was deafening. Timbers cried and groaned, 
 as in the agony of despair under their mighty load of sink 
 ing ground. Now and then a smaller pine stull broke with 
 a snap and a report like a rifle shot. The great, gaping 
 stope, opening deep into the bowels of the underworld, spilled 
 |iiai tz from its yawning maw like water. 
 
 It was a deal to test the nerve of brave men. Hudson 
 and the foreman turned sick. The Thoroughbred was the 
 first to step forward. 
 
 "Hold a minute," said Hudson. "I ll ring for timbers." 
 Me pulled the bell wire and the cage shot upward. 
 
 Then he ran under the sinking mountain, jabbing the 
 beak of his candlestick into the hanging wall. "She ain t 
 cracked yet," he yelled. "But she s comin down fast, and 
 will soon choke er up unless held back. We must drive the 
 timbers under her." 
 
20 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 The Thoroughbred ran up the slippery ladder into the 
 grinding, snapping maw of the stope into the very jaws of 
 death. "Pass up the timber !" he cried. 
 
 The cage dropped down with stalls, jacks and wedges. 
 The foreman lifted a load and passed it up. The Thorough 
 bred seized a pine and drove the timber home with a single 
 blow. 
 
 Hudson*s eyes opened wide in admiration. He had 
 never seen stulls handled by such a man-machine. He 
 backed out to give the swinging jack room, and stood at the 
 head of the ladder to hand up the braces. 
 
 The shrieking, grinding din increased in fury. The 
 mountain kicked and plunged. It was as if all the demons 
 of the lower world were holding high carnival in the Gold 
 Bug s labyrinths. 
 
 The cage flew between the surface and the 800. Timber 
 after timber was passed up and driven home. It was three 
 men against an avalanche three men propping up a topp 
 ling mountain. 
 
 Little by little the men gained ground. Slowly the 
 creaking and grinding ceased, and the hanging wall settled 
 firm on its new foundation. Heavier timbers were piled at 
 the base. With a final groan the mountain quieted., 
 
 At the last moment a slip occurred near the stope/s 
 mouth, threatening to bury Hudson under two tons of loose 
 shale. The Thoroughbred saw it coming, and whirling 
 around, drove a stull beneath it. The super was saved, but 
 the slip parted in the middle and caught Nason across the 
 chest, throwing him flat and pinning him to the floor. 
 
 They dug him out and tottered weakly to the cage, car 
 rying him between them. He was limp and drenched with 
 perspiration. Blood flowed from a bad cut on his head. 
 
 They doubled him up on the cage platform and rang 
 the bell. They shot up through the long black shaft, past 
 stations now still as sepulchres, where spent candles were 
 spluttering in their stocks. A moment later they were out 
 in the cool night air. 
 
 "Here boys," said Hudson, kindly, "take the dude to the 
 boarding house and call the doc. He s got a bad scratch on 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 21 
 
 the head, and is gone of breath. See that he s cared for 
 proper." 
 
 The camp doctor worked for an hour over The Thor 
 oughbred, while the diggers of the two shifts moved about 
 on tiptoe, their hats in their hands and their hearts in their 
 boots. 
 
 Millie helped bandage the wounds with the deftness 
 and skill of a hospital nurse. It was her pretty blue eyes 
 that beamed first into the face of Jim ISTason when he came 
 back to consciousness. 
 
 "He s got one chance in a thousand/ said the doctor, 
 turning to the door. 
 
 Millie took that one chance and staked her life upon it. 
 And she won, though it was a long, hard struggle. 
 
 Hudson kept The Thoroughbred on regular pay all the 
 while he was down. When he donned his boots again, it was 
 to become foreman of the day shift. 
 
 And when that third great event occurred in the Gold 
 Bug the super sent to Boulder for a swallow-tail coat. This 
 was a time when Corduroy wouldn t do for he was best man. 
 
f 
 t 
 
 1 1 
 
 t 
 
 BECAUSE of FANNIE 
 
 l I 
 
 1 1 K X Andy Morris and Fannie came to Gold Bug, 
 business in camp took a decided turn for the better. 
 Not that business was ever really bad there, but be 
 cause Andy was wise in the way of business men, and well, 
 Fannie was his business partner. 
 
 He bought the camp store and turned in broadside to 
 the tailings-]) iked road, otherwise known as "Grand avenue/ 7 
 He built a long shady porch in front, and made two entrances 
 to the -store instead of one. A partition, with bearskin por 
 tieres, divided the two departments. On one side Fannie sat 
 perched on a stool behind the counter, to hand out the mail. 
 She was also within reach of the plug tobacco, fine cut, 
 cheroots and cigarettes. In a little while every digger in 
 camp bought his smoke weed of Fannie. 
 
 On his side of the partition Andy Morris carried a won 
 derful and miscellaneous assortment of goods. Some were 
 sold wrapped up, some in boxes,, but the greater part w r ent 
 out in bottles. The counter was hard and smooth, much 
 like a bar, and, while the goods in sight were principally 
 miners " boots, overalls and canvas coats, the commodity of 
 greatest profit in which Andv dealt could be drank there and 
 then at the time of purchase. The little irregularity of 
 Andy s only having n government or "gallon house" license 
 was a matter for Andy alone to worry over. 
 
 It is doubtful if Andy ever worried over anything, or 
 found pleasure in anything. He waited on every customer 
 with gravity, and in absolute silence. It was whispered 
 around camp that Andy had "a past/ but as he never alluded 
 to it, none questioned him about it. He seldom smiled, and 
 seldom joked. 
 
 Mart Quinlan was the only man in camp who professed 
 to know much about Andy s past. When it \vns rumored 
 
24 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 around that the old man had in early days been the proprie 
 tor of a bucket-of-blood den in Leadville, the report was very 
 naturally traced to Quinlan. No denial was made, and the 
 matter would have remained thus had not Quinlan one day 
 received an odd epistle through the mails. It came in a 
 rough manila envelope,, and was a black-bordered sheet, bear 
 ing a crudely-sketched skull-and-cross-bones and the warning : 
 "CLOsE yOuE CLaMs oE YOU wILL Be a COLd 
 FEItTeE." 
 
 The letter bore the Gold Bug postmark, and Quinlan 
 knew it had come from someone in camp. He received it 
 during the distribution of the afternoon s mail ; that evening, 
 when the crew was at mess and while no others were around, 
 Quinlan sauntered into Fannie s end of the store, bought a 
 pack of cigarettes, joked awhile with the girl, and then went 
 around through the other door to Andy s side. 
 
 The keeper was busy arranging a new shipment of rub 
 ber ponches on the upper shelf. When he climbed down, the 
 mysterious letter, with its black-bordered warning, was spread 
 on the counter, and Quinlan was holding a revolver within 
 three inches of his nose. Andy Morris instinctively raised 
 his hands. Both men eyed each other in silence, but between 
 them flashed a glance of mutual understanding. 
 
 Just then Fannie called from the other room: "Daddy, 
 your coffee is ready and waiting. Do you want it brought 
 in?" 
 
 The keeper did not answer, and the girl was heard to 
 jump -from her stool and come toward the door. When she 
 parted the bearskin portieres and poked her round face 
 through, Quinlan had tossed the revolver to an inner pocket 
 of his coat and was studiously engaged with Andy, examin 
 ing the peculiar texture of the manila envelope. 
 
 "Why didn t you answer me, daddy?" she asked, im 
 patiently. "Do you want your coffee brought in?" 
 
 "No; I ll come for it, little one," her father answered. 
 
 Fannie tarried in the door, and a mischievous smile 
 lighted her face. "Can t he read his letter, daddy?" she 
 said, impudently. "If you can t make it out for him, send 
 him around to me?" 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 25 
 
 She darted from the door and disappeared. The two 
 men again faced each other. Quinlan whipped out his re 
 volver and the old keeper raised his hands. 
 
 "Well/ 7 said Quinlan, finally, "what you got to say about 
 it?" 
 
 "To say about what ?" the keeper replied, as if unable to 
 understand. 
 
 "About this/ Quinlan informed, indicating the letter 
 with a slight dip of his revolver. "You sent it. I want to 
 know what in thunder you mean by it ?" 
 
 "You re blabbing around camp that I kept the Tivoli in 
 Leadville during the 
 
 "Well, ain t it so? Ain t it a fact that you were there 
 when Red McTurk killed 
 
 "Shut up, man," said the old keeper, in a hoarse whis 
 per, turning strangely pale. "Fannie will hear you." 
 
 "You don t want her to know it?" 
 
 "My God, no. It s not for her to know. She is all I 
 have since Maggie went." 
 
 "Well, keep your boots on; I m not going to tell her," 
 Quinlan assured. "And I will say nothing more. Pm sorry 
 I ve said what I have, though a lot of this talk don t come 
 from me. But I don t like this black-hand, skull-and-cross- 
 bones way of telling me to keep still. If I m too noisy, come 
 right up in daylight and close my muffler. I will tell you 
 that I know all about it. I was only a kid, but I was there 
 when it happened; however, I ve got sense enough to keep 
 still. So far as I know, you never done anything that wasn t 
 legitimate, and I ve got no kick to make." 
 
 They shook hands, and a little later two glasses clinked 
 on the bar. Quinlan s revolver went back to his pocket, and 
 the keeper reached under the counter. His fingers first 
 touched the barrel of a six-shooter, and lingered momen 
 tarily, while Andy did some thinking; then they passed on 
 to the long-necked bottle kept for special purposes. The 
 cork popped, and the foaming liquid gurgled into the glasses. 
 
 The mischievous face of Fannie again appeared at the 
 door. "Don t let him drink his whole gallon in here, daddy," 
 she said, with a wink ; "he has a shift to work yet tonight." 
 
26 THE GOLD Hl d STOH) BOOK. 
 
 The portieres dropped and the girl s face disappeared. 
 Quinlan and Morris drank their liquor, and the compact of 
 friendship was sealed. 
 
 During the month that followed Quintan s visits to the 
 cam]) store became more frequent, especially to that end of 
 it presided over by the winsome Fannie. Among the miners 
 of Gold Bug the pretty girl had many admirers, but Quinlan 
 proved the most persistent of them all. He had decided, 
 just before the arrival of the girl and her father, that he 
 would leave Gold Bug and try some other camp; but when 
 Fannie came he changed his mind. He was a rover, a soldier 
 of fortune, a seeker after pleasure and mischief, and, while 
 the Gold Bug* supplied these for a time, it had,, just previous 
 to Fannie s arrival, become monotonously dull. 
 
 But now, at the close of his shift and when his day s 
 work was done, he would saunter down to -the store after 
 mess to buy a new pack of cigarettes and spend a half hour 
 with Fannie. Perched on her high stool, with her cheeks 
 in her palms and her dimpled elbows on the counter, the girl 
 t would stare dreamily through the open door while Quinlan 
 talked in his quiet, careless way of a world the girl knew 
 only in books. He had circled the globe, and seen service -in 
 every mining camp from Alaska to Australia. Fannie had a 
 pretty trick, when he had finished a good story, of withdraw 
 ing her gaze from the mountains and lifting her black eyes 
 directly into his own. It was this, and Fannie s beauty and 
 Fannie s fairness, that drove Quinlan to believe he had found, 
 after all his roving, the one girl who would make him happy. 
 
 A month later he was brought out of the mine with a 
 broken leg, as the result of a fall from a slippery stope ladder. 
 During the three weeks he lay in his bunk, one-half his body 
 rigid as a poker in its splints and plaster, Fannie was con 
 stantly by him. No doubt things would have been settled 
 permanently between them, and at once, had not Andy inter 
 posed an objection. He couldn t let Fannie go just yet. 
 Fannie was all he had, and Fannie was young. He had no 
 particular objections to Quinlan, but he could not bear to 
 have Fannie leave him. 
 
 While the old keeper s objections sounded plausible 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 29 
 
 enough, Quinlan knew that Andy s plea for a stay of pro 
 ceedings was based on a desire to have the girl ultimately 
 marry someone better than he. Andy s sole ambition was 
 to have Fannie gain a place of prominence in the world, and, 
 since she possessed neither wealth nor learning, this could 
 only be accomplished by her marrying a man who would lead 
 her up fame s ladder. 
 
 When he was able to walk, Quinlan went out on a short 
 trip to Boulder. He returned on the stage in company with 
 a well-groomed fellow whom the miner learned was a govern 
 ment official. And, though the official settled back in a 
 corner of the coach and tried to sleep, Quinlan forced him 
 to answer a few tactful questions, put for a purpose. 
 
 When they reached Placer, Quinlan called Slivers, the 
 driver, aside and asked: "How long do we stop here?" 
 
 "Just about ten rounds of the second hand. We ll hit 
 the alkali just as soon as we can hook on a fresh team." 
 
 "I want a half hour here, and I want it bad," Quinlan 
 declared. 
 
 "We re a half hour late now, and the mail must be got 
 through on time." 
 
 "No matter ; I must have a half hour. There s a govern 
 ment hawk on board, and he expects to swoop down on Andy 
 unawares and catch him with a row of glasses on the bar. 
 You know how it is Andy is giving us a square deal out at 
 camp, and, though the Dewdrop owners are sore and have 
 evidently given this government hawk the tip, Andy has 
 forced them to quit the prune brandy and tobacco juice busi 
 ness. I must catch Andy on the phone, so he will have 
 ample time to clear his bar and set out his barrels." 
 
 No further pleading was necessary. Slivers understood 
 and fully appreciated the situation. Though he was never 
 known to give the physical condition of the stage serious 
 attention, and had frequently dragged it in on three wheels, 
 he nevertheless inspected it critically that day and found it 
 badly in need of grease; also, he found three nuts loose, two 
 bolts gone, and the boot straps broken. To repair and ad 
 just all this required a full half hour, and while the govern 
 ment official paced the hot road near the stable and cursed 
 
30 THE (10 LI) JiCU WORY BOOK. 
 
 the stage company for sending out a coach that was ready 
 for the junk pile, Quinlan waited for his "party" in the near 
 est telephone booth. In thirty minutes he had Andy on the 
 line, and in thirty seconds lie sounded the alarm that caused 
 the old man to drop the receiver and move from the mine 
 office to his store with a faster pace than he had ever before 
 been known to use. 
 
 When the stage and the official arrived, the inspector 
 made directly for Andy s place. There was not a glass in 
 sight, and the polished bar was covered with "Bull-dog" over 
 alls, miners hoots and slickers. The place was pronounced 
 0. K. 
 
 Nearly a month went by, and things moved along as per 
 usual. Then something happened. 
 
 In a steel safe, behind Andy s counter, many of the dig 
 gers kept their savings. Not caring to open an account with 
 the Boulder bank, and being possessed of a desire to have ;i 
 "nest egg" on hand, this arrangement proved a convenience. 
 I n a little while the keeper had, in addition to his own money, 
 some $4,000 in the safe. 
 
 Quinlan s visits became more frequent, and he was 
 allowed liberties around the store that no other enjoyed. He 
 went behind the counter, either on Andy or Fannie s end of 
 the establishment, at will, and assisted the keeper at replacing 
 goods on the shelves. Once or twice he helped the old man 
 count the money at the close of the day s business, and, as a 
 recognition of his supreme confidence in him, the keeper gave 
 him the combination to the safe. 
 
 One morning, when Andy opened up, he found the 
 money missing. The several smaller bags, containing the 
 miners savings, and the keeper s coin, gold and silver, was 
 all placed in a larger canvas bag; and all was gone. The 
 safe door was partly open. There were no marks or scratches 
 on the lock, and it was clearly evident that the combination 
 had been worked. The old man knew that, besides himself 
 and Fannie, only one other knew the combination. 
 
 The theft was reported to Hudson, the superintendent, 
 and before the noon shift went on the news of it had spread 
 to every corner of camp. There was.no clue, and Hudson 
 
777 E GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 31 
 
 was making ready to phone to Boulder for the sheriff, when 
 Quinlan left his post on the 600,, came up the shaft and went 
 oxer to the camp store. He called out the "investigating, 
 committee and confessed to having committed the theft. 
 
 "I took it," he said, calmly. "Go tell Hudson to send 
 for the sheriff. I am ready to take my medicine. 1 
 
 The "committee" went out and left Quinlan and Andy 
 alone. The old man leaned over with both hands on the 
 counter and gazed at the miner in a stupefied way. Half 
 dazed, he went out and followed the "committee to the office. 
 But Hudson sent no word to the sheriff. 
 
 Andy returned presently and found Quinlan still stand 
 ing by the counter, gazing curiously at the looted safe. 
 
 "No need of the sheriff making the trip up here," Andy 
 said. "Court meets next month, and I ll guarantee that 
 you ll be there when the gong sounds. There s something 
 about this business I can t understand, but I m certain you ve 
 la ken the money only for a little while. Ain t I right?" 
 
 "Yes; you re right," Quinlan assured. 
 
 "I thought so. That s why I know you ll be handy 
 when you re needed. I m your surety, but Hudson declares 
 that if it takes half the metal of the Gold Bug s pay streak 
 to cover your bond he will see that it is stacked to keep you 
 out of jail. Now, out yonder is California, and over there 
 toward the east somewhere is Maine; the Gulf of Mexico is 
 down south of Texas, and the Canadian line is up north here 
 that s the border line of your pasture till court meets." 
 
 The old man took Quinlan s hand and clinched it 
 warmly. He then led him through the bearskin portieres 
 to Fannie s end of the store. In a little while Fannie knew. 
 She put her face in her hands and her elbows on the counter, 
 and listened to him as if he was telling one of his best tales 
 of Australia. But there was no happy smile at the close 
 of this one; instead, she lifted her eyes to his, and in their 
 warm depths, glowing with tears, Quinlan read the story of 
 a woman s confidence and a woman s devotion. She raised 
 her hand, and, while the old man turned to view the pine- 
 whiskered summit of Cowhorn mountain, Quinlan pressed 
 the soft white fingers to his lips. 
 
32 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 Quinlan s confession failed to clear the mystery of the 
 theft. Why the money had been taken, and how it had been 
 used, remained unanswered and unsolved questions. He 
 spent but little for drink, and took no part in the game over 
 the little green table in the Dewdrop. 
 
 Three weeks passed, and only two days remained till 
 court convened at Boulder. Andy had hoped, and believed, 
 Quinlan would return the money before court time, and so 
 waited patiently. But when the time for trial drew near, 
 and Quinlan still showed no inclination to explain the mys 
 tery, the old keeper began to lose courage. He feared that, 
 after all, something was wrong.- He grew less talkative; 
 more silent. His hard and never-ending work also told on 
 him, and the combination of causes was bringing a serious 
 change in the old man s condition. Frequently Fannie found 
 him walking around the store in his sleep, and was finally 
 obliged to lock the doors and hide the key after he had gone 
 to bed. 
 
 The day before his going to trial, Quinlan called on 
 Andy for a final talk. "I must go down tomorrow," said 
 he. "I m not afraid, and won t back down, but I d like just 
 a word from you about it before I go. It would make me 
 feel better." 
 
 "A word about what?" bluntly asked the keeper. 
 
 "Why, about- the robbery. You know what I mean. I 
 can t make it any plainer." 
 
 "Well, one of us must be daffy as a French fiddler," 
 Andy replied, nonplussed by Quinlan s words. "All I know 
 about it is what you have told me, and that is damned little." 
 
 Unsatisfied, Quinlan turned and walked out, leaving 
 Andy mumbling over the counter. 
 
 That night the old keeper was seized with another attack 
 of sleep-walking. He donned his clothes, crawled through 
 the window, and was wandering around the house before 
 Fannie missed him. She hurried out, and followed him. 
 He crossed the porch, followed the path to the back yard, and 
 was digging under a pile of dry goods boxes behind the store. 
 Just as the girl came up, he hauled out a heavy canvas, bag 
 that slipped from his fingers and fell with a jingle. 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 33 
 
 "How in thunder did that get out here?" Andy asked 
 alound, when Fannie reached him, for he was now wide 
 awake, and, with Fannie, stared stupidly at the bag of coin. 
 
 They carried it into the store, lighted a lamp and counted 
 it. The money was all there ; no part of it was missing. 
 
 Before Hudson or Simpson were told of it, next morn 
 ing, Quinlan was interrupted in his work of packing his few 
 best duds into a canvas telescope, and told he was wanted at 
 the store. Believing it was Fannie who wanted him, he went 
 immediately. 
 
 Andy met him at the door and led him around to the 
 safe. All of the long-lost money reposed snugly in the vault. 
 
 "There will be no need of your going down to stand 
 trial," Andy said. "And now, only one thing remains un 
 solved why in thunder did you confess a crime you took no 
 part in?" 
 
 Quinlan dropped his head, like a chided boy, and after 
 a little while explained: "I saw you creep out the window 
 that night with the bag in your hand. I was going to my 
 bunk at the close of a short shift. I saw you sneak around 
 the store with it, but did not follow you. I never knew 
 where you put it. I didn t know you were asleep. I thought 
 you were taking it for her you had said you needed more 
 money to send her East to school." 
 
 "That settles it," said Andy, taking Quinlan s hand. 
 "I understand it all now. But Fannie won t go East to 
 school. She might get fool notions in her head. I owe 
 you a lot Mart, but the best I can do is to give you Fannie. 
 She is all I have, and, though the sacrifice is great, I gladly 
 make it for you. Go in and meet her; she is waiting for 
 you." 
 

 ON AND OFF THE 
 WATER WAGON 
 
 
 rocking Concord rolled into Gold Bug, leaving a 
 long trail of dust in its wake. Most of the diggers of 
 the night shift had crawled out of the bunkhouse and 
 were stretching their limbs and killing time around the camp- 
 store. Some where down at the Dewdrop imbibing goose 
 berry champagne and prune wine. 
 
 Slivers did not bring the coach up to the store first, to 
 throw the mail bags down, as was his usual custom, but cut 
 across the tailings pile toward the boarding house. Neither 
 did Slivers deign to notice the group in front of the store. 
 He held the ribbons with the style of a band-wagon driver. 
 He kept his eye on the leaders, and wore his hat tilted well 
 back toward the southeast. 
 
 Though in matters generally Slivers was an enigma, as 
 difficult to solve as a Chinese- puzzle, he was easily under 
 stood when he arrived each day with the stage. Hat well 
 down over his eyes and lines loose on the tongue meant 
 empty stage and a dry trip. Swinging his hat, yelling "cara- 
 hoo-oo" and cracking his blacksnake over the leaders just as 
 he came up the hill meant a drummer on board with samples 
 of Kentucky hardware for the Dewdrop. 
 
 But when Slivers failed to stop first at the store, failed 
 to throw down the mail bags which the contract between the 
 stage company and Uncle Sam explicitly stipulated must be 
 unloaded first of all when he failed to give the group in 
 front of the store a single glance of recognition, it was, as 
 Tony Bill expressed it, "A dollar agin a birdcage that Slivers 
 brought somethin done up in calico inside the coach." 
 
 And so, while the coach rocked across the white tailings 
 pile to the boarding house, the diggers off duty begun hur 
 ried preparations to beautify themselves, absolutely certain 
 that something feminine was coming into camp. They 
 
36 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 slapped the quartz dust from their clothes with slouched 
 hats. They combed their hair with their fingers, and all 
 made a lively scramble for the one blacking-brush in camp. 
 
 Some finished their toilet in time to cross the camp and 
 see Slivers jump down from the box, take his hat in his left 
 hand, make a courtly bow, and poke his long right arm into 
 the open door of the stage. 
 
 In a moment, something tall and pretty, and clad in a 
 smart dust coat, stepped out. It had brown hair, an oval 
 face, and big blue eyes. It cast a half-frightened look at the 
 rough-and-ready men who surrounded the stage. Trowing a 
 timid glance from one to the other, the pretty creature turned 
 quickly and retreated into the boarding house. Slivers fol 
 lowed as far as the door with a load of grips and bundles. 
 
 The diggers assembled at once in the Dewdrop to discuss 
 the new arrival. She had come unheralded. Whence and 
 why, were questions of intense interest and immediate specu 
 lation. 
 
 "She s no hash slinger, I ll gamble my wad on that," 
 Bensen, one of the night bosses declared. Her s ain t the 
 style that throws soup plates and mush bowls. Did you see 
 them big peepers of hers ? Why, say, a square look from em 
 would melt the base end of a Swiss glacier. She s a lady, 
 I m tellin you, a tip-top lady, and I ve got an argument for 
 the one who says she ain t." 
 
 "She must be a first niece or a second cousin of the gen 
 eral manager," said Jackson, the pump man. "She s got 
 tired o smellin gasoline and has come out to breathe pine 
 ozone a while. Did you see them glad clothes she wore? 
 Every thread of em made to measure." 
 
 "Just another bunch of calico, and another bundle of 
 trouble for Gold Bug, that s all," Simpson, the foreman, de 
 clared with evident disgust. 
 
 "Shut up, you crabbed old bach," shrieked Tony Bill. 
 "Get back in your shell and stay there." 
 
 Thus the discussion ended. When the diggers filed in 
 to supper that night, searching glances were thrown from 
 corner to corner, but the timid creature was nowhere in sight. 
 The Old Woman was provokingly silent. Her stoical face 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 37 
 
 was as expressionless as the Sphinx. Those who ventured 
 a question were curtly told that they would know in plenty 
 o time." 
 
 Next morning the diggers of Gold Bug were startled by 
 seeing a little tin sign hanging outside the door of the board 
 ing house "parlor." The words of the placard were painted 
 in yellow, on a red background, and said : 
 
 "Miss Lola Langhorn, Dentist. Teeth Extracted With 
 out Pain." 
 
 The "parlor" was the one room of the boarding house 
 that the Old Woman held in absolute reserve. Its rag carpet 
 was spared the merciless trample of miners boots. Its sofa 
 had not been sat on enough to take the squeak from the 
 springs. It was kept in order for "company," the missionary 
 who came out at long intervals, and the general manager who 
 visited the Gold Bug regularly on the 15th to pay off the crew. 
 
 But the "parlor" was put to a different use this time. 
 The big armchair was hauled to the center. The stand was 
 drawn alongside, and piled with an array of forceps, pliers 
 and tongs sufficient to chill the blood of an army surgeon. 
 
 The diggers paused to read the sign as they went in to 
 breakfast, and each halted curiously in the door. Each one 
 saw the big chair, and the instruments of torture on the 
 stand. But it was the creature sitting at the window, studi 
 ously reading a novel, and apparently oblivious to their curi 
 ous gaze, that held each digger overtime in the door. She 
 was daintily dressed in a gown that was all lace and ruffles 
 and tucks; her shapely white arms were bare to the elbow, 
 and her hair was piled in a mass of brown on her head. 
 
 When breakfast was nearly over Miss Langhorn came 
 into the dining-room and was seated at a little table that the 
 Old Woman had arranged for her. She threw a pretty smile 
 around the rough board. As each digger believed the smile 
 was for him, the momentary embarrassment caused an upset 
 of three cups of coffee, and Tony Bill dropped a hotcake into 
 Simpson s mush. 
 
 The inhabitants of Gold Bug had never realized that a 
 dentist, or "dentistess," as Slivers called this one, was so 
 badly needed in the camp. Before Miss Lola Langhorn s 
 
38 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 sign had been out six hours every digger of the day and night 
 shift, with the exception of Simpson, was either taken with 
 a severe toothache or discovered they had a molar or two 
 they really didn t need. 
 
 Since his official position gave him greater license on 
 his time, or at least on the manner of using it, Hudson, the 
 super, had a decided advantage over the others, and was the 
 first to call on the lady. He had a "jaw tooth" that had 
 troubled him since he had left the Silver Bell, ten years be 
 fore must have been the arsenic in the water over at that 
 camp. 
 
 The super indicated the side where the fractious tooth 
 was located, and the young lady, with dainty care, made an 
 examination. But she found the teeth on that side as sound 
 as the Gold Bug s bullion, and Hudson was obliged to admit 
 his mistake the bad tooth was on the other side. Finally a 
 tooth was found that needed a crown, and still another that 
 needed filling. Much to the super s joy, he made an appoint 
 ment for one hour with the fair dentist every morning till his 
 teeth were put in order. 
 
 After supper that evening a half-dozen diggers were 
 waiting their turn in the "parlor." To make their affliction 
 more genuine, some of them wore bandages around their 
 "swollen" cheeks. Before the day was done, the lady had 
 made appointments enough to cover the next two weeks; 
 truly, she filled a "long-felt-want" in Gold Bug. 
 
 But Miss Langhorn carried her work beyond that of ex 
 tracting teeth and building crowns. While she worked, she 
 talked. It was principally this talk that made the operation 
 painless, for there was music in her words, and every digger 
 gave ear. Whenever she caught the scent of liquor (and she 
 caught it every time a patient came in) she used the odor 
 as fit excuse for a temperance talk. She hated liquor, and 
 intimated that she could not like a man who drank. 
 
 As a consequence, various forms and kinds of "breath 
 killers" were tried, but the lady could smell the whiskey 
 through all of them. Thus only one thing remained that 
 was to quit get on the water wagon. So there was a de 
 cided falling-off in business at the Dewdrop. Each after- 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 39 
 
 noon the barkeeper found time to come out in front, tilt his 
 chair against the wall, and take a nap in the sunshine. This 
 was a thing before unheard of in Gold Bug. Even the de 
 votees to the little green table lost interest in the game. 
 
 The fair dentist admitted that it was difficult for men 
 accustomed to a regular toddy every day, to drop the bracing 
 liquor altogether, or, at least, to let go suddenly. Such a 
 shock might work permanent injury to the strongest man 
 nerve, as well as to his nerves. She said the man accustomed 
 to his night s nightly or his morning^s morning could soon 
 overcome the habit entirely by taking that one glass between 
 four and five a. m. After the diggers of Gold Bug had given 
 this a few trials and hammered the Dewdrop door down in 
 a frantic effort to wake up the barkeeper, they concluded that 
 the lady was quite right such treatment would cure any man 
 of the drink habit. 
 
 Never was a woman s humanizing influence more deeply 
 felt. Gold Bug became strangely quiet and calm. Slivers 
 declared it was like disturbing a camp-meeting to drive his 
 four-wheelers into camp faster than a walk. Sunday became 
 a different day from that the diggers had known. On this 
 day the shifts changed, and the whole crew had five hours off. 
 Previously these five hours was a time for the biggest drink 
 ing bout of the week. If any shooting was done, it usually 
 occurred on Sunday, as all disputes of the past six days were 
 reserved for settlement on the seventh. 
 
 But the coming of the fair dentist changed all this. The 
 barkeeper snoozed undisturbed in his chair all of Sunday. 
 Miss Langhorn received no patients that day, but gave a talk 
 half lecture, half sermon from the boarding house porch. 
 
 It was during the course of these lectures that the "Be 
 Better Society" was organized. Its roll of membership in 
 cluded all except Simpson, Slivers and the barkeeper. 
 
 The perfecting of this organization practically put an 
 end to business at the Dewdrop. Those who went there did 
 so infrequently. Fault was found with "goods" that were 
 pronounced "bunkum" before. Jackson dropped a glass, half 
 emptied, and loudly declared that it would give a Mexican 
 burro a fit of jim-jams. His accusation that a plug of 
 
40 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 tobacco had been dropped in the whiskey barrel and water 
 poured in made the barkeeper reach under the shelf for his 
 six-gun. A hasty remonstrance on the part of bystanders 
 prevented possible bloodshed. 
 
 This was an unfortunate move on the part of the bar 
 keeper, as it slid the Dewdrop to the ragged edge of failure. 
 "This is no place for an honest man," Jackson said, chestily. 
 "I m going to quit you. Since it is no place for an honest 
 man, it is likewise no place for an honest man s money, so 
 open the safe and give me my wad. I ll cache it sommers 
 else." 
 
 "That s right, Jackson," voiced another. "You re on the 
 right lead. I ll move my pouch, too. 
 
 "So will I," cried a third. 
 
 "Give me mine," chorused the crowd. 
 
 So the bags were drawn. It was a veritable "run" on 
 the camp bank. The news of it reached the lady dentist. She 
 was muched pleased, and suggested that the safe be brought 
 to her room nothing would disturb it there and such a 
 change might result in an increase of savings. 
 
 Miss Langhorn s proposal was adopted without a dis 
 senting voice. The safe was the property of the diggers, and 
 was removed with considerable pomp and ceremony from a 
 dusty corner of the Dewdrop to the fair lady s shrine. 
 
 Nearly half the summer went by the driest summer 
 Gold Bug ever knew. The "Be Better Society" grew and 
 prospered, and Miss Langhorn became little short of an angel 
 to the miners of the camp. Though they all liked her and 
 showered their attentions upon her, and even suffered the loss 
 of teeth that were in most cases badly needed, she treated all 
 the same and kept them at a sisterly distance. A few were 
 so fortunate as to be intimate enough to call her "Miss Lola." 
 Hudson, with his usual gusto, declared that she was the lady 
 for him. But the super had said things very similar to that 
 before. 
 
 The going of Miss Langhorn was as sensational as her 
 coming. It was not so much her going, as the manner of it, 
 that took the diggers of Goul Bug by surprise. 
 
 It was on Sunday morning. Both shifts were off duty. 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 41 
 
 The men had made a change of flannel, trimmed their 
 whiskers, and were gathering in front of the boarding house 
 to hear the regular sermon. One by one the miners came, 
 throwing themselves at ease on the sod. The hour for the 
 lady to appear arrived, but no lady was in evidence. They 
 waited ten, twenty, thirty minutes, but still the door to her 
 room remained closed. The conclusion was reached that she 
 was asleep. Hudson and Simpson strode up and down the 
 porch a few times, their heavy boots thumping as loudly as 
 hoofs on a stable floor. Even this failed to bring a sound 
 from within. 
 
 Then Tony Bill, who seemed to have the lady s welfare 
 more at heart, surmised that she was ill. 
 
 The crowd agreed with Tony in this belief. Hudson and 
 Simpson promptly apologized for their disturbance, and sug 
 gested that a committee of two be appointed to wait on the 
 sick lady and ascertain what could be done for her. The 
 delicate nature of the task required men of especial tact to 
 carry it out on strict lines of etiquette. Tony Bill and Perry 
 Mason were deemed best fitted to serve on the committee, 
 and were appointed. 
 
 While the crowd breathlessly waited, the committee tip 
 toed to the door. Tony tapped lightly on the rough panel. 
 There was no response, and he tapped again, louder than 
 before, but with no better results. 
 
 "Try the lock," said a voice. 
 
 The lock was tried, and yilded. The door opened and 
 the committee, with its hands over its eyes, ventured in. 
 After a moment of suspense, Tone returned to the door and 
 with ghastly face announced: 
 
 "She s gone I" 
 
 The crowd stood up. The same thought came at once to 
 every digger s mind, and found expression from a score of 
 lips : 
 
 "Look in the safe." 
 
 The combination had been worked, and the heavy door 
 opened readily. All the bags were inside, each with its 
 little tag and the name of the owner. But they had lost their 
 plumpness, likewise their weight. 
 
42 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 Following this startling disclosure, a long, long silence 
 fell over the crowd. At last Hudson spoke, but what he said, 
 though a matter of Gould Bug history and entirely apropri- 
 ate, would not look well in type. 
 
 It was a cruel blow, cruelly dealt. Not such a blow as 
 the footpad deals with his sandbag to rob the unsuspecting. 
 She who took the hard-earned savings of the G-oul Bug dig 
 gers was no common thief. 
 
 A horseman was dispatched with all haste on the trail 
 now eight hours old. All the others with one accord moved, 
 a heart-broken., sullen crowd to the Dewdrop, jerked the 
 sleeping barkeeper from his chair, and stood him at his post. 
 
 Nobody found fault with the "goods" that day. 
 
t 
 
 
 e Tke TIN HORN 
 OF GOLD BUG 
 
 
 t 
 
 ID you ever try to tell a stage driver anything? 
 
 Well, if you did you vented valuable oxygen for 
 nothing, because a stage driver cannot be told. 
 
 And thus it happened that much kinly meant advice 
 was lost to the winds when the Gold Bug stage was pulled 
 up suddenly on the brink of Eoaring Creek, with the lead 
 horses on their haunches. The bottom had ripped out of a 
 great black cloud up in Little Annie gulch, and the murky 
 water rolled into Eoaring Creek in heaving swells. 
 
 There were two passengers aboard. One was a black 
 eyed damsel, with cheeks like a peach blossom, and a gaze in 
 them would melt the heart of a tyro. She was on her way to 
 Gould Bug to spend the summer, and incidentally help the 
 Old Woman of the boarding house sling hash. 
 
 So much for the girl. Now he of the black moustache, 
 who sat with Slivers on the box, though possessing every 
 required feature of a first class villain in a "meller-dram- 
 mer," was far more "drammer" than "meller;" in truth, he 
 and Slivers drammed two bottles before they were within 
 seven miles of Eoaring Creek. Then they drammed no more, 
 because there was no more to dram. And with nothing better 
 to do, Slivers, during the easy roll down the long grade, be 
 gan a systematic course of questions, calculating to bring out 
 the stranger s entire family history from a to izzard. 
 
 But the third or fourth quizz from Slivers was so lack 
 ing in tact, and came so direct, that the stranger was 
 obliged to answer in kind. He told the driver, that if it 
 would do him any good he would tell him his name was 
 Thompson front name, Jerry was a sky-lighter, born in a 
 balloon was first rocked to sleep by a cyclone first learned 
 to walk, talk and shoot in Texas learned the alphabet 
 
44 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 backwards, because it came easier that way for him than 
 frontwards was the inventor of the sleeveless vest, the bot 
 tomless pail, and noiseless cheese also had some dealings 
 with cowless milk and was the first man to ascertain that a 
 feather, dropped from a height of 7,777 feet on a windless 
 day would, if it struck squarely, break a two-dollar bill. 
 
 A while ago we left the lead horses on their hind feet, 
 at the brin kof Eoaring Creek. They kept that attitude but 
 a short time, while Slivers told Mr. Jerry Thompson what he 
 knew of stage driving in general, and. Eoaring Creek in par 
 ticular. This was done because Jerry had volunteered to 
 guess that the creek was too high, and the ford a reckless 
 chance. He didn t care himself, would just as soon swim the 
 creek as ride across it on a stage, but it was the girl he was 
 thinking about. 
 
 But Slivers stood erect on the box and measured the 
 murky current with practiced eye. 
 
 Yes, he could cross er. Of course he could cross er. 
 Hadn t he crossed er many times when she was a damsite 
 higher? No man, born in a balloon, or reared in a cyclone 
 could tell him anything about Eoaring Creek. Didn t he 
 know every foot of the road from Boulder to Gold Bug? 
 And couldn t he drive over it in the dark, blindfolded? 
 Well, I guess yes. Tell him something about Eoaring Creek, 
 will you; and while you are in the telling business, just tell 
 him "who in hell is driving this stage anyhow." 
 
 Before Mr. Jerry Thompson, or the girl in the coach 
 could enter serious protest, Slivers cracked his whip over 
 the leaders and the stage splashed into the stream. The 
 driver kept his eye on the burned pine stump and the clump 
 of chapparral on the opposite shore. The crunching of the 
 wheels on the gravel told him his course was right. 
 
 And Slivers would have made it cleanly, despite the 
 swimming of the leaders and the rush of water into the coach, 
 had it not been for the untimely arrival of a four-foot wave, 
 which rolled suddenly out of Little Annie gulch into Eoaring 
 Creek, catching the outfit broadside. 
 
 Everything was off its feet in a wink. The coach rolled 
 over on its side, and the driver leaped astride a wheeler. 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 45 
 
 Feminine shrieks of terror came from inside the over 
 turned stage. The coach broke loose from the running gear, 
 and was tossed about like a cork on the black water. The 
 strager poked a long arm through the door, and found the 
 girl, bringing her out, half strangled. Then another wave 
 rolled down on them, and tossed them clear of the stage, 
 pulled them under, and threw them well out toward shore. 
 The man struggled in the mighty grasp of the avalanche, 
 and by a supreme effort and the favorable buffeting of the 
 waves was lifted high and thrown shoreward. He finally 
 found footing, and clambered up the bank, with the girl 
 clinging to him. Just below, Slivers and his four horses 
 were threshing the willows on the border of the creek. A 
 short time later, the whole outfit, minus the coach, was again 
 ready for the road. 
 
 The girl and the stranger entered Gold Bug on the backs 
 of the wheelers. Slivers follow dejectedly behind, his repu 
 tation badly damaged, and his sonscience all but mortally 
 wounded. 
 
 When a man saves a girl s life, the girl naturally pre 
 sumes that the man will fall in love with her at once, unless 
 he can satisfactorily prove that he already has a wife or two, 
 and is unable to make agreeable terms with them. And this 
 was the way, beyond doubt, that Nettie, the black eyed dam 
 sel, looked at the Eoaring creek affair. It was quite evident 
 that in Mr. Jerry Thompson she had found the man whose 
 picture she had carried in her mind s eye since she was sweet 
 sixteen, and that was possibly well, six years ago. Jerry 
 was tall and handsome, polite, graceful as a dancing master. 
 He wore a moustache and crimson tie. To Nettie Jerry was 
 a real man. To the diggers of Gold Bug, Mr. Jerry Thomp 
 son was a tin horn. 
 
 There had been tin horns before in Gold Bug, but none 
 like Jerry. He was not of the sort that snoozes in the bunk- 
 house all day, and roll out with the night shift to go on 
 duty over a little green table in the Dewdrop. Jerry hit 
 the cage, and dropped down the shaft with the rest of the 
 crew. He handled a jack like a Trojan, and Hudson, the 
 super, declared that if he had twenty men like Jerry, he 
 
46 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 would shut down the machine drills and save the cost of 
 making steam. 
 
 Jerry dealt the cards, but it was always after the shift 
 was done. And luck, the golden winged goddess, never failed 
 to touch him with her wing. What Jerry earned as a three- 
 fifty stoper was small interest on the wad he carried from the 
 Dewdrop every night. 
 
 Always when a young girl came to Gold Bug, Hudson, 
 the big buffalo of a super, made a fool of himself. He never 
 failed to become of the notion, when a new damsel arrived 
 in camp, that he was a ladies man. Time and again the 
 sweet things turned him down, but old Hudson always 
 bobbed up serenely when a new one appeared. The Old 
 Woman of the boarding house was largely to blame, as the 
 super was a great man in her eyes, and she was determined 
 to get him married. After the third failure, Simpson, the 
 foreman, who was the one man in camp that could talk to 
 Hudson and give it to him straight, advised him to get a 
 mop-squezeer and let the fairies be. 
 
 Nettie was the fourth. And the big super went down 
 on his knees before her, just as he had done with the others. 
 He bought her trinklets by the wagon load, and though the 
 girl took them prettily, she reserved her best smiles for Jerry. 
 
 Hudson grew sullen, and moped around the camp like 
 a mad Indian. He hated Jerry, but he couldn t fire him, 
 because he was too good a man. Jerry took it all as a mere 
 matter of course, and gave the super s bad talk no heed. 
 It was Nettie who did the courting, and Jerry was gentle 
 man enough to treat her fair. 
 
 But this oft-repeated condition of things made Simpson 
 sore. It was little Simpson knew of women, and still less 
 he cared to know. He thought Nettie ought to be given a 
 return pass to Boulder, with an additional bonus on condition 
 that she remain away from Gould Bug. "Every time a new 
 bunch of calico comes in over the trail, the devil is turned 
 loose in camp," Simpson declared while he and a line of the 
 boys leaned over the bar in the Dewdrop. "Every time a new 
 woman comes to camp, some good man gets killed," he con 
 tinued, hammering his fist emphatically. "There s the one 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 47 
 
 at the boarding house now; while she s making a sucker of 
 Hud by taking all his junk, she s also arching her neck and 
 prancing around Jerry. She likes Jud s trinkets, but she 
 cares no more for him than the devil does for holy water. 
 And to make things worse, the Old Woman is mad because 
 the girl is all for Jerry, and in her madness is setting out 
 hash that would give a bulldog the cramps. Why, say, there 
 was salt enough in the beans today to have pickled a sawlog, 
 and I couldn t detect any difference between the taste of the 
 pie and the spuds. Just watch what I m telling you hell 
 will be popping in Gold Bug before the girl business is done 
 
 Smipson brought his fist down on the bar with a jolt, 
 that made the cocktail glasses dance on their stems. The 
 boys finished their drinks and went out. Shortly after, 
 Jerry came in, smiling and jovial, and broke two bucks on 
 the bar to treat the crowd. Then he settled to the little 
 green table and started the ball rolling. 
 
 Just before the third play. Hudson dropped in. He had 
 been drinking red eye all afternoon, and was full to the 
 muzzle. He walked over to the table, and blinkingly sized up 
 the situation. "Hold on there, Mr. Dealer," said he, "I ve 
 got a few plunks left. It s me that calls that turn." He 
 leaned over the table and examined the cards more closely. 
 "That looks like king, queen, jack. By the general laws of 
 health, and according to nature that means king-queen, or 
 queen-jack. To me it s queen-jack." 
 
 "I ve got it called different," said Jerry, with his 
 customary confident tone. The cards were turned. "You 
 lose your money, boss," remarked Jerry, scooping the pile. 
 
 "And there s more here yet," said Hudson, as he 
 dropped a five-piece on the cloth. "That may go, and still 
 I ll eat and sleep. Now what s the turn?" 
 
 The game went merrily on, with Jerry always in the 
 lead. Before a great while, the super had drawn up a chair, 
 dug up his buckskin, and shook out a hatful of twenties. It 
 was too blooded for the average digger, and all backed out 
 and left it with Jerry and Hudson. Three hours later, the 
 super was all in, and made a loan on the barkeeper to stand 
 treat. 
 
48 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 Just as the game broke up, Simpson came in, and said 
 there was a bad slip on the 400. He needed another man at 
 once, to catch up with her. A hint was enough for Jerry. 
 He stuffed his wad in his canvas coat, and was off with the 
 foreman up the trail. A half dozen of those who remained, 
 were trying to get Hudson to his bunk, when someone was 
 heard stamping his feet outside. The door was pushed open, 
 and a man stood on the steps, holding the reins of a hard 
 ridden broncho. 
 
 "Hello," said he. "I m the deputy sheriff; just in from 
 Placer, a little dry, thank you, and I don t care if I do." He 
 dropped the rains and sauntered in. "You re Hudson, the 
 superintendent/ he remarked, taking the super s hand, "and 
 I m glad to know you. Excuse my presumption, but I m 
 looking for a man. Johnson is his name, but he s changed 
 it to Thompson Jerry Thompson. He killed a greaser over 
 on the Brazo last month, and we just got track of him here 
 two days ago. I must take him at once. Is he in his bunk ?" 
 
 "He s down in the mine," some man volunteered rather 
 tardily. 
 
 "Then I ll have to go down. Will you go with me?" 
 
 "Sure," replied Hudson, as he led the way to the hoist. 
 The cage had just come up, bringing a mucker with a hurry 
 call for timbers. 
 
 "She s coming in on the 400 bad/ said the mucker, as 
 he lifted the gate and rolled a car of timbers on the lower 
 deck of the cage. "Jerry and Simpson are driving her back, 
 but the whole upper wall may settle on em." 
 
 "Mebbe we d better wait," remarked the deputy, as he 
 hesitated near the shaft collar. 
 
 "Wait, the devil," roared the super. If you want your 
 man, come down and get him fair. I m going down anyhow, 
 as the boys need help most likely." 
 
 The deputy stepped on the platform with Hudson, and 
 the cage dropped down, stopping with an abrupt jerk- on the 
 400. The super pulled a candle stick from a station post, 
 and the two started down the drift. A hundred yards back 
 a ladder ran aloft near an ore chute, and up this the two men 
 clambered into a wide stope. A dozen diggers were jamming 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 49 
 
 in the timbers,, working madly in the candle-light. Back 
 under the maw of the break, were Simpson and Jerry. The 
 whole mountain trembled, and the great stulls groaned and 
 cracked. 
 
 Hudson left the deputy abruptly, and rushed to the 
 assistance of the two men in the maw. Impending disaster 
 sobered him, and his whole thought now was in keeping the 
 Gold Bug in operation. Should the 400 come down nearly 
 the whole ore reserve of the mine would be locked up. 
 
 "Gimme a jack, quick/ 7 he yelled. "Ike, run to the sta 
 tion and ring for bigger timbers." 
 
 The deputy stood trembling on the lower edge of the 
 stope. Discretion implored him to retreat, but manliness 
 and duty bade him remain. He climbed up higher, and 
 joined the crew of madly working men. Twice he was 
 brushed aside by the tall and powerful Jerry. Up in the 
 maw, loose shale rattled down in a stream, or dropped by 
 the bucketfull from the hanging wall. Then came a dull 
 rumble, as of distant thunder, and an underground whirl 
 wind fluttered the candles. Half the crew retreated in wild 
 haste for the shaft, for all knew the meaning of it. 
 
 Bearing a stull as big as a sawlog, Jerry ran under the 
 bulging wall. The slip split in twain, just as he drove her 
 home. Then followed a mighty crash, as if earth was torn 
 apart. Black darkness filled the stope, and the maw was 
 choked up with tons of crumbled shale. But the big stull 
 held her up, and the stope remained open. Hudson, Simp 
 son and the deputy were locked in the vault, and somewhere 
 under the mass Jerry was pinned to the floor. 
 
 The super found a match and lighted his candle. Grab 
 bing a pick, he began digging into the loose rock. "Dig for 
 God s sake, dig," he yelled. "Jerry is somewhere under here. 
 If he hadn t stuck that timber under her, we d all been 
 squashed like a spider under a boot. 
 
 At last they found him, and pulled him from under the 
 mass of broken quartz. They bore his long and apparently 
 lifeless body out between them, carrying him to the station 
 where the cage waited. Up on the surface they stretched 
 him out on the cool grass, and mopped his cut and bruised 
 
50 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 face. When his eyes opened, the first thing his gaze fell 
 upon was the deputy s star. 
 
 "I m your prisoner, pardner," said he feebly, "I knew 
 you, the minute I saw you, down in the stope, but I was too 
 busy to talk to you. I know why you are here, and Fm ready 
 to go. I killed La Monte, but not till after he d starved his 
 old wife and almost beat the life out of Manzita. I caught 
 him beating her, and told him to quit. He kept at it, and I 
 warned him that if he wanted to live he d have to drop the 
 gad. A fourth time I caught him using a club on her, and 
 my blood boiled hot in a jiffy. I shot him while he stood 
 over Manzita with his stick. Manzita is here in camp. They 
 call her Nettie. She ll tell you that what I say is straight. 
 I wouldn t have run away, but I coundn t pound the truth 
 into those greasers, and the lost no time spreading the yarn 
 that I had murdered the old man for his money. But I can 
 make money without killing men to get it." 
 
 "I don t need to be told that," the deputy replied. "We ll 
 go down to the bunk house and wait till morning. You re in 
 no condition to travel tonight." 
 
 They laid him on a cot, and the deputy sat by his side 
 all through the night. Now and then a miner crept in to 
 learn how he was getting along. The officer arose every little 
 while, and walked the floor, thinking it all over. It was 
 nearly daylight, when he lay down for an hour s sleep. When 
 he arose, he came over to Jerry s bunk, and the bruised miner 
 opened his eyes. 
 
 "Say, Jerry," said the deputy, "do you think you ll be 
 able to ride today?" 
 
 "Yes, easy," Jerry replied. 
 
 "Well, we ll hit the road for Placer this morning, but 
 I m going to lose you on the way, understand? I m an 
 officer, sworn to do my duty, but I m white. You saved three 
 lives last night, and already had one to your credit when you 
 put old La Monte out of the way. I m going to phone in my 
 resignation as soon as I reach Boulder, as I want to get at 
 something a little more decent. You can leave a note and 
 explain it all to the girl. It s only twenty miles to the Ari 
 zona line, and you can both be on the other side by tomorrow 
 
, THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 51 
 
 morning. Get up., if you can, and crawl into your clothes." 
 
 Jerry reached under his pillow, and pulled out a heavy 
 buckskin. 
 
 "No, none of that," said the officer, lifting his hand. "It 
 isn t money, it s justice and fair play that I want, that s all, 
 and you can t get either down there with all those greasers 
 against you. I ll leave you, for a while now, and you you can 
 get ready to go. I ll have the boss send over the girl to see 
 you." 
 
 Two hours later the men all lined up on the boarding 
 house porch, and gave Jerry the brawny hand as he passed 
 along. Nettie came out, looking her prettiest, and the dig 
 gers turned round to admire the pine-whiskered muntains, 
 while he put something on her cheek that made the rosebud 
 more rosy. 
 
 Just before climbing into the saddle, Jerry gave Hudson 
 a heavy bundle, with the remark that it was a little token he 
 wanted to leave the boys, that they might not think too hard 
 of him. 
 
 When the two horsemen were out of sight, the super 
 opened the package. 
 
 "Well, I ll be" 
 
 Inside were forty little bags. Each bag held the money, 
 and bore the name of each digger who had lost over the green 
 table in the Dewdrop, when Jerry dealt the cards. 
 
 The big bag in the center of the heap bore Hudson s 
 name. 
 
 The super lifted it out and passed it over to Nettie. 
 "This one belongs to the widow," said he. 
 
WHEN THE 
 PLUNGER QUIT 
 
 ALL three of them arrived at Gold Bug on the same 
 stage. Slivers pronounced them the queerest trinity 
 he ever pulled over the road. One was a woman a 
 3 oung woman, with a sort of sad, sweet face, set well back 
 under the protecting shades of an old-fashioned bonnet. She 
 sat on the box with Slivers the whole distance from Boulder, 
 but according to the driver s most careful calculations she 
 spoke only three and one-half words the whole trip. 
 
 One of the two men inside was the woman s brother. 
 The red-faced fellow who sat with him called him Dick, and 
 referred to the woman as "Miss Lucy." 
 
 Though he addressed him thus familiarly, the red-faced 
 man had, as a matter of truth, never met either of them 
 before he boarded the coach at Placer. But he belonged to 
 that world-wide, giant-hearted class who receive the universe 
 in open arms, regardless of class, color or creed. He later 
 apllied for work, and when Hudson signed him, he put down 
 his name as Mark Blevins. To the diggers of Gold Bug, and 
 more especially to those who tarried to win or lose over the 
 little green table in the Dewdrop> he became known as "The 
 Plunger." 
 
 "Miss Luc) ," as all the diggers learned to call her, was 
 the first real angel that ever entered Gold Bug. Being of the 
 type feminine, she was held, for a time, with no little sus 
 picion by the inhabitants of the camp. This was done with 
 full remembrance of past experiences. 
 
 But Miss Lucy was one in whom even the woman-hater, 
 Simpson, could find no fault. In due time every miner of 
 Gold Bug was convinced that she was sincere. It became 
 evident that her one aim and purpose was to do good in the 
 camp. 
 
 There was an empty cabin not far from the boarding 
 
54 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 house. Miss Lucy tidied it up and kept house for her brother. 
 She came over each evening just before the shifts changed, 
 to read her Bible and sing to the diggers. The songs were 
 new, and yet not new. There was nothing of the music hall 
 flavor about them ; they were nearly all old-fashioned ditties. 
 She would begin with "Kock of Ages/ "Lead Kindly Light/ 
 and "Nearer my God to Thee/ and when the miners called 
 for more, she sang them of "Barbara Allen/ and "Sally in 
 Our Alley." 
 
 Miss Lucy carried sushine everywhere she went. She be 
 came a sort of guardian angel to every whiskered digger ; and 
 they liked her, because they knew she was sincere. She was 
 everywhere that a humanizing word or a gentle hand was 
 needed. When a miner took sick, or was brought up the long, 
 dark shaft with an arm gone and his limp body shot full of 
 quartz, she was the first to reach his side. 
 
 Though she did not pound temperance* into them, the 
 miners, out of the real bigness of their hearts, met one even 
 ing in the Dewdrop to "put and carry" several motions and 
 adopt resolutions that would give Miss Lucy a better under 
 standing of the conditions; also, it would raise the moral 
 level of the camp. It was proposed and unanimously car 
 ried, that "On and after this date, any man caught drunk, 
 except on the two days immediately following pay day, would 
 be shot on sight, provided he wandered outside, where he was 
 in danger of being seen by Miss Lucy." It was also decided 
 that all disputes, where guns were used, unless proven of a 
 very pressing nature, must be settled outside camp, or out of 
 earshot of Miss Lucy s house. And while the assembly was 
 heated with the passion of reform, a more sweeping measure 
 was proposed; this was to establish regular closing hours for 
 the Dewdrop. This evoked general discussion, and no little 
 argument. After three black eyes were registered and a vol 
 ley or two of artillery fired, the question was brought to a 
 vote. It failed to carry, as it was justly felt that such a 
 measure would destroy the freedom and love of liberty so 
 much cherished by every digger of Gold Bug. 
 
 In the work of reform Miss Lucy accomplished less on 
 her brother Dick than on any other digger in the camp. Per- 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 57 
 
 haps this was because she had given him up as lost, and no 
 longer cared to waste good time upon him. Anyway he could 
 hang longer over the bar and faro table, in proportion to his 
 pay, than any other man of the day or night shift. While 
 other of the men, under Lucy s benign influence, were turned 
 from the broad road into the narrow trail, Dick jogged along 
 the broad highway with absolute unconcern. His sisters 
 tears and pleadings had no effect upon him. 
 
 Regularly each pay day Dick brought his "wad" into 
 the Dewdrop, and after breaking the crust on the bar, 
 loosened the sack on the green table. The Plunger had be 
 come regular dealer since coming to camp, and it was The 
 Plunger who got Dick s money; also, it was The Plunger who 
 got a big part of all the pay day money of Gold Bug; at least, 
 he got the first shot at it. 
 
 One night, after the men had lined up at the office for 
 their pay, Dick came in and stood over the table where Hud 
 son and Jackson were making a desperate effort to break the 
 bank. Twice they came near putting The Plunger ashore. It 
 was a blooded game, but none were -too blooded for Dick, as 
 long as his money held out. 
 
 "Here s my chance," Dick remarked, after he had 
 watched the game for a while. He dug his hand into the 
 buckskin and pulled up four twenties. "What s your limit ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "The roof s off," replied The Plunger. 
 
 "All right, here s a double eagle on the bullet," Dick 
 answered, dropping a twenty and sliding into a chair. 
 
 "A double eagle goes, and there s more at the mint," 
 chimed in Hudson, covering the bet. 
 
 The cards were turned. Dick lost. 
 
 He repeated the bet and lost again. 
 
 Then he dug his hand into the sack, circled once around 
 the chair, and tried again. He won next time. Won again, 
 then went three times to the bad. Planked up the fourth 
 time and won ; the fifth time and won. Then he got careless, 
 let his whole wad on the copper, and dropped it all in the 
 sink. 
 
58 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 After each of these experiences, which happened regu 
 larly every month, Dick went home blue. Unlike the average 
 man of the green cloth., he was a hard loser, and he would go 
 to his work the next day as suddenly as a criminal getting in 
 line to do the lockstep. 
 
 So it happened that Miss Lucy met The Plunger, and 
 the two had a long talk. The gamier had always managed 
 to keep a safe distance from her. He was seldom one of the 
 group who heard her sing. But after she had talked to him 
 that day, and walked with him up the trail to the collar of 
 the shaft. The Plunger was become of a different turn of 
 mind. 
 
 He worked like a Trojan over his drill that afternoon, 
 and had his full set of holes ready for the powder an hour 
 before shot time. He worked in silence, and madly, that his 
 muscles might keep pace with his brain, for he was think 
 ing, thinking. A new vigor and a new life had entered into 
 him. 
 
 Though his arms could swing the jack, his fingers lost 
 their deftness, and he dealt the cards that night in a half 
 hearted way. He lost on every turn. He seemed to court 
 each loss, and passed it up with a smile. By 10 o clock he 
 was all in. The bank was empty. He arose and smiled hap 
 pily, as if a great load had been shifted from his shoulders. 
 He offered his hand to Hudson, for it was Hudson who had 
 driven him ashore. 
 
 "You certainly die game," said the super, "I like your 
 pluck. Come have one or two with me." 
 
 "No thanks; cut me out," The Plunger answered. "I ve 
 quit," 
 
 "You re pipe-dreaming," Hudson replied amazed. 
 
 "No, I m giving it to you straight. My bank s closed for 
 good, and I m on the seat with the water wagon driver." 
 
 The laugh that followed brought no smile from The 
 Plunger s resolute face. He strode out of the saloon, leaving 
 the crowd gazing at the door in mute astonishment. 
 
 From that time on The Plunger was always one of the 
 crowd who tarried on the boarding house porch to hear Miss 
 Lucy sing. They had other talks, long and quiet, in the 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 59 
 
 shade of the big laurel by the cabin. Nearly every day she 
 walked with him up the trail to the shaft house. Sometimes 
 she pinned a mountain daisy to his jacket just before he went 
 down. 
 
 Though The Plunger had quit his old tricks, he still 
 called in at the Dewdrop every evening to meet the boys, for 
 he was the same jovial digger he was before suffering a 
 change of heart,. Another pay day rolled around, and on the 
 evening following, as The Plunger entered the saloon, he met 
 Miss Lucy near the door. There were tears in her eyes, and 
 a tremor in her tone. She begged him to watch her brother 
 Dick, who had just entered. She tried to get him to stay 
 away, to leave his money at the cabin, but he had obstinately 
 refused. She knew he would gamble and drink it all away in 
 one night, just as he had done before. 
 
 "He won t listen to me," she said, "but I think he will 
 listen to you. Don t let him lose his money, please don t, for 
 my sake." 
 
 The Plunger would have waded through fire, had Miss 
 Lucy commanded him. She had said enough to drive him to 
 immediate action. "I ll get his money, and return it to you," 
 he declared, turning into the saloon. 
 
 He found Dick and drew him aside. Dick insisted on 
 investing a portion of his pile in blue and red chips, but The 
 Plunger interfered. Then Dick demanded that they have a 
 little game of their own, just to pass the time. 
 
 "No, I can t gamble, even with you, Dick/ said The 
 Plunger. 
 
 "H, gambling, your Aunt Peggy ! This won t be 
 gambling just a quiet round of poker, that s all, at two-bits 
 a corner. 
 
 Believing it a chance to hold Dick from the green table, 
 The Plunger agreed to the game. They found a table well 
 back in the corner of the saloon, away from the noise and 
 hub-dub of the faro circle and the drinking crowds at the bar. 
 They cut, and Dick won the deal. The cards were shuffled, 
 and after a round or two, Dick grew impatient. He shoved 
 back his chair in disgust, and exclaimed : 
 
 "Bring us lemonade and filtered water. This is too 
 
60 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 tame. It s just like playing casino in a hayloft. Let s make 
 the ante worth while. Why not call it four-bits a turn ?" 
 
 The Plunger hesitated. He also carried his month s 
 pay, and if luck went wrong, he could lose it all during the 
 night, even at the rate Dick suggested. But the touch of the 
 cards, the clink of the c^ips and the spirit of the game 
 brought the old desire back again. The boisterous laughter, 
 the oaths and curses, was as music to his ears. His blood 
 tingled in his veins, and the old craving drove him on. 
 
 "All right," he agreed, "Toss out the deal; four-bits 
 goes." 
 
 When the ante was small, Dick was a sure winer, but 
 with a lifted pot, he went to the bad every turn. Three times 
 The Plunger won the small bet. Then he forgot himself and 
 dug his hand into his sack. He dropped a fiver on the table 
 and remarked: "I ll go you one better, and lay that on the 
 turn." 
 
 "Good, good !" cried Dick with delight. "This is taking 
 us out of the committee meeting. It looks to me very much 
 like ace, queen, jack. In grammar it is queen- jack or jack- 
 queen." 
 
 "I see it through a different glass," The Plunger re 
 turned, now fully imbued with the gambling spirit. 
 
 "You see it right," said Dick, shoving over the pile. 
 "Here s a twenty on the next. 
 
 This turn Dick lost again, but remained game. Again 
 the cards were dealt. Both men pulled their sacks. This is 
 getting interesting, blamed if it ain t," said Dick. "But just 
 to show you how I stand, I ll set my wad on ace heart, ace 
 club, ace diamond and ace spade. The laws of health would 
 call it four aces." 
 
 "My wad don t call it that way," said the Plunger, set 
 ting his pouch on the table. 
 
 By this time every digger in the saloon know of the 
 "quiet little game" in the corner, and all were gathered 
 around the table. 
 
 For a little while there was silence, then The Plunger 
 said, so low Dick could hardly hear him : "I call you." 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 63 
 
 Dick turned his cards. He held aces ! The crowd lost 
 its breath, but no word was spoken, for the end was not yet. 
 But four aces ! Say, that s a mighty hard hand to beat. 
 
 The silence grew more intense while The Plunger turned 
 his cards. He held a straight flush ! The crowd hammered 
 its boots on the floor. Digger slapped digger with slouched 
 hats and labor-hardened palms. Yell after yell went up, till 
 the Dewdrop threatened to lose its roof. 
 
 Dick s chin dropped, and his face turned pale. He 
 pushed his cards, the chips and the money across the table, 
 shoved back his chair, and abruptly left the saloon, amid the 
 laughing jeers of the crowd. 
 
 It was yet early, and the Plunger went first to the bunk- 
 house to spruce up a bit, before making a short call on Miss 
 Lucy. He would give the money to her, he decided. He had 
 won it fair, but he would not keep it. 
 
 Just as he left the bunkhouse, and started across the 
 camp toward the cabin, he met Lucy. The dim light through 
 the bunkhouse window fell upon her face and revealed eyes 
 that had been weeping. 
 
 "Don t cry," said The Plunger, "don t cry, Miss Lucy. 
 Dick did gamble, but it was I who won his money. I had no 
 intention of keeping it. Here it is." 
 
 She lifted her hand in refusal. "It isn t that," she 
 cried; "no, no, it isn t that. I was out when he returned 
 home. I came to the cabin, opened the door, and there"- 
 
 She said no more, The Plunger understodd. He leaped 
 before her and ran madly across the camp to the cabin. He 
 threw wide the door, and there 
 
 The darkness was to dense, but a lighted candle revealed 
 it all the lifeless body, the smoking revolver, the wound in 
 the temple. 
 
 Miss Lucy came in a little later and found The Plunger 
 wailing over her brother s body. 
 
 "Dick! Dick!" the gambler cried. "Poor Dick, what 
 have you done ! God have mercy on me ; it was my fault !" 
 
 The Plunger arose and took the weeping girl s hand. 
 "This is my crime, Miss Lucy," he confessed. "I led him 
 into it, and won his money. I broke the promise I made you. 
 
64 
 
 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 Here, over poor Dick s body, I swear I shall never do it again. 
 I will keep my word." 
 
 He gripped her slender fingers in a grasp like that of 
 steel. There was naught to give witness save the sputtering 
 candle on the wall, but the vow remained unbroken The 
 Plunger kept his word. 
 
 Nearly six months later the super got out his swallow 
 tail coat, and the diggers built a wedding bell of wood fern 
 to hang on the boarding house porch. Slivers brought a 
 preacher in from Boulder, and 
 
 But that is another story. 
 

 
 t 
 
 
 The GOLD 
 BUG KID 
 
 
 f 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 A KID around a mine is just about as useless as a hole 
 in a doughnut/ 7 Simpson, the foreman, declared, 
 when he learned that Hudson had signed The Kid 
 as a sort of general roustabout for the night shift. 
 
 "There are two things I have no use for," Simpson went 
 on, pounding his sledge fists emphatically, while he and a line 
 of the diggers were in front of the Dewdrop bar, enjoying the 
 full measure of the pause between the last swallow and the 
 cherry on the bottom. "One is women, and the other is kids. 7 
 
 "And that s me, too," echoed Jackson, the night pump 
 man, from his end of the line. 
 
 Nevertheless, The Kid went on duty, and was not long 
 in proving himself vastly unlike any boy the diggers of Gold 
 Bug had ever known. He was a big-boned, broad-shouldered 
 youth. He was heavy, but not of the fat and dumpy sort. His 
 was a round jovial face, with lips set firm, eyes intensely 
 black, and from which snapped the alertness and intelligence 
 of youth. 
 
 The Kid was just a wanderer when he came to Gold Bug. 
 He had given Slivers his last dollar, and made up the re 
 mainder of his fare by lending a hand at changing the horses 
 at the stage stations, on the trip up from Placer. 
 
 He looked up Hudson; found him at the office, and ap 
 plied for work. The super told him at once that a mine was 
 no place for kids. "A mine is just a big hole in the ground," 
 slid Hudson, "and it takes men to burrow it out." 
 
 The Kid paid no heed to the super s objections, but went 
 nil. lolling his story. And it came so direct from the boy s 
 heart that the big man was forced to give ear. 
 
 The Kid said his father had been boss over on the Sil 
 ver Bell his father never missed an hour from his shift 
 n6Ver drank while on duty, and never bet a penny over the 
 
(50 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 little green table held back a slip once on the 600, when 
 all of the men were out swam the lower level when it was 
 flooded., reached the pump and cleared the mine went into a 
 drift to clean a "missed hole," caught the powder, and was 
 buried under five tons of rock and shale they brought "him 
 out in a hand bucket, and buried him under the white oak 
 up the gulch from the mill couldn t remember his mother, 
 she died down at Boulder, w r hen The Kid was a baby. 
 
 His father s name ? Oh, The Kid almost forgot. It was 
 Jimpson Sam Jimpson. 
 
 That name decided the boy s case. Did Hudson know 
 Jimp ? Well, I recon he did. The two had fingered flapjacks 
 out of the same frying pan in early Idaho days. They had 
 bunked together while swinging a jack on the same shift at 
 the Little Daisy, Sarah Jane and Minnie E. Hudson knew 
 Jimp to have the biggest heart, the clearest eye and the hard 
 est muscle of any man that ever hit a trail. 
 
 For a while the diggers tolerated The Kid much as they 
 did the boarding house cat because they had to. But in 
 time the wide gulf of indifference between the blue-shirted 
 men and the boy grew narrower. They found in him a real 
 boy of the mines. He was neither dull or "smart." 
 
 The house of learning from which The Kid received his 
 education was vast and big. He had attended both the day 
 and night sessions. He knew the difference between bull 
 quartz and pay .rock, and could tell at a glance whether a 
 ledge was free milling or base. He knew more about foot and 
 hanging walls, contacts, country rock, diorite and porphyry 
 than a professor of mineralogy. He could tell by the roar, 
 whether the whole stamp battery was in action, and if it 
 was not, would know just how many stamps were tied up. 
 He knew by the hum of the steel drums in the hoist room 
 whether the cages were coming up loaded or empty. He could 
 read every clanging signal of the big gong over the engineer s 
 head, and knew how to give them. 
 
 In due time The Kid forced himself up the line of pro 
 motion from mucker to drill carrier, from drill carrier to 
 cage tender, and from cage tender to pump man s assistant. 
 
 As The Kid went on the night shift, his duty made him 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 67 
 
 assistant to Jackson, and Jackson was the one man on the 
 crew who failed to give the boy due recognition. He failed 
 to find anything useful in the youth, and made the heat of 
 the steaming pump station all the more unbearable with his 
 curses and uncontrolable temper. 
 
 One night, when the big pump was hammering like a 
 battering ram, and threatening to blow out a cylinder head, 
 The Kid took a wrench and attempted to loosen the tension 
 on the suction. Jackson was out at the time, but came in 
 roaring mad, just in time to catch the boy at work over the 
 pump. 
 
 "What in hell are you doin r" the big man yelled, 
 grabbing The Kid by the scruff of the neck, and hauling him 
 off. "You ll have the pump buckin all over the lower level 
 if you ain t careful." 
 
 To protect himself the boy struggled desperately. This 
 increased Jackson s fury, and in a fit of anger he tossed The 
 Kid over the curb into the black water of the sump. The un 
 derground reservoir w r as full to the brim, and more than 20 
 feet deep. Only his being a good swimmer saved The Kid 
 from drowning. He clambered out and shivered through the 
 rest of the shift in dripping clothes. But his round face 
 never lost its smile. 
 
 His first two weeks as pump assistant was a season of 
 unbroken misery to The Kid. Jackson finally ceased his curs 
 ing and cuffing, but still gave the boy no heed. He ignored 
 the lad completely. When the boy anticipated the big man s 
 wants, and handed him the wrench or the oil can, Jackson 
 took them from The Kid just as he would have lifted them 
 from a stump, or from the shelf of the wall. 
 
 A thing that added materially to Jackson s meanness 
 of temper was his habit of imbiding strange mixtures of red 
 and straw-colored liquids from long-stemmed glasses over 
 the Dewdrop bar, just before going on duty. Sometimes 
 Jackson poured so much of this stuff through his cavernous 
 maw that it made him tangle-footed, and he walked with 
 peculiar, zig-zagged course across the pump station floor. 
 When he started for the tool box he frequetly came up with a 
 sharp thump against the wall over by the oil barrel, and said 
 
68 THE GOLD RUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 ill ings that even the oil barrel would not dare repeat. 
 
 One night The Kid donned his rubber coat, pulled a 
 (audio stick from the head- frame post, and waited at the 
 collar of the shaft for Jackson. It was past time to go down. 
 All tlic night shift men were at work in the stopcs and drifts. 
 . The cage shot up, with both decks loaded. A mucker 
 rolled off the loaded cars, and rolled on empty ones. The 
 cage hrsiiatiM a minnle, waiting for the head pump man, but 
 as ho still failed in appear, dropped down the dark shaft, into 
 the bowels of the earth. 
 
 Presently Hudson, the super, came up the trail from the 
 office, and finding The Kid sitting by the gate, gathered 
 material for the immediate inquiry: "Where s Jackson? * 
 
 "Don t know," the boy replied, but his answer was in the 
 manner of cine who does know, vei who prefers to hide the 
 truth. 
 
 Hudson pullod his watch. "He s eight minutes late 
 now, and the pump station is unmanned; this is a helluva 
 note. Don t you know where he is?" 
 
 "I think I can guess," The Kid replied, tardily. 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "Bustin bucks over the Dewdrop bar." 
 
 "Then hike down and yank im out. Bring im up, if ho 
 isn t too drunk. Take the wrench to im if you need to. The 
 pump station must be manned at once." 
 
 The Kid darted down the trail to comply. He hesitated 
 a moment when near the door, fearful of results. He knew 
 that the pump man would be in ugly mood; would possibly 
 refuse to return with him, or eve to take any notice of him. 
 The boy was almost on the point of returning to the mine 
 without trying to bring Jackson out, when the meaning of 
 Hudson s command came to him in its full force. "Yes, 
 Hudson said I must get him, and I will," the boy declared. 
 
 The Kid pushed open the swinging door and entered the 
 saloon. The Dewdrop swarmed with flannel-shirted, heavy- 
 booted men. As the boy expected, Jackson was emptying 
 the glasses as fast as the barkeeper could fill them, and had 
 lined the crowd up for the fifth round. "Here s another 
 double-eagle in over the trail," sang out the big man lustily, 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. "71 
 
 slapping a twenty on the bar. "Take your hammer to that, 
 Mr. Bartender, and give us a drink, because we love you so." 
 
 The Kid walked boldly up and touched the drinking 
 man gently on the arm. "Jackson/ said he, "it s past time 
 to go down. The station is unmanned. Hudson sent me 
 after" 
 
 "Git out of this, you little brown-topped chipmunk," 
 11 ic pump man yelled, turning suddenly upon the youth. "Go 
 bark at the gray squirrels, I ain t got time to crack nuts 
 with you." 
 
 A boisterous laugh followed, but it was unheard and un 
 heeded by The Kid. 
 
 "Hudson wants you, Jackson," the youth repeated, tak 
 ing a firmer hold on the big man s arm. 
 
 "What does Hud want with me ? He ain t got no strings 
 on" 
 
 "We re late, Jackson. The shift went on fifteen minutes 
 ago. There s no one at the pump, and she will hammer her 
 self to death." 
 
 "Let er die," roared Jackson, "The Gold Bug needs a 
 new pump, anyhow. Git away from me, you cub, before I 
 blow you away. He pushed out his long arm, and threw The 
 Kid across the bar room. 
 
 While the boy gathered himself together, and made ready 
 for a second attack, a mucker ran in, half gone of breath, and 
 yelled: "Where s Jackson and The Kid?" 
 
 "Eight here," The Kid answered prompty, "What s the 
 trouble?" 
 
 "Fire s broke out in the pump station. She s burning 
 hotter than hammered purpagtory, and smokin like a tar 
 barrel. All the men are out of the upper levels. Hud wants 
 you two to go down with him. If it ain t put out at once, 
 the whole mine will burn." 
 
 "Come quick, Jackson !" The Kid urged, tugging at the 
 pump man s sleeve. 
 
 Impeding disaster sobered the stalwart miner. The 
 daze of whiskey left him suddenly, and his eyes shone clear as 
 steel. "What s that?" he cried, grasping the full import of 
 the alarm. "Fire on the pump station? The men all out?" 
 
73 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 He left an unemptied glass on the bar, dashed out the 
 Dewdrop and up the trail with The Kid pattering nimbly 
 at his heels. 
 
 All the night shift men were huddled aroung the collar 
 of the shaft, some with their candles still flickering in the 
 sticks. Some were hanging up their coats in the change room . 
 Hudson was charging back and forth like a mad bull, vainly 
 trying to get two men to go down with him. Simpson had 
 gone of duty for the day and knew nothing of the trouble. 
 
 Smoke was pouring from the shaft in great black rolls, 
 sucked up by the long draft from below. It was evident that 
 fire was already well under way. 
 
 "Come on, two of you," Hurl son roared, "I want two 
 men at once." 
 
 But the men held back. It was too much like courting 
 death. "What s the use," they murmured, "an avalanche 
 couldn t put out that fire now." 
 
 "It must be put out," Ilic super veiled. "Quick, you 
 cowards !" 
 
 The super seized the hose coil from the rack and threw 
 it on the cage deck. Then he rang the bell to down cage. He 
 was going down alone ! The Gold Bug was above everything 
 to Hudson, even above his own life. 
 
 "Hold on," yelled the Kid from outside the circle of 
 men. The cage hesitated, and the boy and Jackson leaped 
 aboard, the latter staggering from what remained in him of 
 the liquor daze. 
 
 "Don t let that man go down, he s drunk," the crowd 
 protested. 
 
 "But he s no coward," Hudson yelled back, as the cage 
 shot down, cutting a hole through the dense smoke. 
 
 On the 600 they stopped with a jerk on a level with the 
 burning station. The fire was roaring like a smelter furnace. 
 The heat stung like vitriol. All three fell flat and pressed 
 their faces close to the damp floor of the tunnel, gasping for 
 breath. 
 
 Hudson pulled the hose from the cage and dragged the 
 end out to the hydrant. Connections were made, and the 
 stream hissed from the nozzle upon the flames. The fire ate 
 
THE. GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 75 
 
 greedily of the oil-soaked floor, and the long shaft gave the 
 draft of a tall chimney. 
 
 The three took turns holding the nozzle to the flames, 
 singing their hair and^eyebrows by the scorching heat. Des 
 pite thei rheroic work, the fire grew. 
 
 Jackson was completely sober now. When his turn came 
 for a hand at the nozzle he would remain overtime, and force 
 Hudson to pull him away by the heels. Once his slouched 
 hat, pulled over his face, caught fire. He slapped it out and 
 put it on again. A second time it blazed, and he threw it 
 to the flames, letting his hair singe. 
 
 Still the fire grew. It ate its way across the floor, and a 
 hundred tongues of flame were twisting fantastically around 
 the pump. But the big machine, unconscious of impending 
 <lisaster, continued its "chug! chug! chug! 
 
 "There s just one way to put er but/ Jackson yelled. 
 Some one must crawl through and release the water of the 
 upper tank." 
 
 "Crawl through, the devil !" Hudson returned. "It 
 would be wadin through fire up to your eyes." 
 
 But the supers protestations were not heard by the 
 pump man. He dropped flatter and crept into the station 
 <loor, now a veritable furnace of fire. The walls were of sheet 
 steel, and between these and the rock wall of the underground 
 cavern was a narrow space. Though the steel wall was red 
 with heat, Jackson crawled into the crevice and started across. 
 He turned once to look back, fooling something touch his 
 heels. It was The Kid. 
 
 "Run back, you cub !" he cried. But The Kid paid no 
 heed. 
 
 They reached the opposite side with their faces blistered, 
 their hair gone and their jumpers aflame. They climbed 
 aloft hastily to the upper tank, and leaped into the cool water 
 of the sump. Then Jackson pulled the lower plug. With 
 wild hisses the water poured down the sides and through the 
 ceiling of the buring station. 
 
 For a little while the steel walls of the station sputtered 
 like a monster frying pan. With long drawn shrieks of des 
 pair, the fire demon left the timbers, and burned wood fell 
 
;<i THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 in (.-hunks from the roof. Before the upper tank was empty. 
 the lire was well extinguished, and the station was filled with 
 >< -aiding steam. 
 
 Then the pent-up energy of disaster was exhausted, and 
 Jackson s eye lost its clearness. He reeled across the station, 
 and would have lei! headlong into the lower sump, from 
 around which the railings were now burned, had the kid not 
 caught and swung his huge body safely to the floor. At the 
 same moment a charred and burned-put limber dropped from 
 the roof and struck The Kid on the head, laying him low and 
 pinning him to the edge of 1he sump. 
 
 One again Jackson s eye and brain were clear, and his 
 old strength returned. He found the lad unconscious at his 
 fed. and he understood. He stooped and gathered up the boy 
 as lighily as lie would have picked up a babe. 
 
 "\V;ike up. Kid. wake up!" he cried hoarsely. 
 
 Hudson ventured in a little later, and found Jackson 
 dueking the hoy in the could water of the sump. "He s just 
 about gone." the pump man declared. " He caught a timber 
 big enough to have knocked out an ox a timber that would 
 have killed me, had it not been for him. 
 
 "Let s get im up and out of here," said the super. 
 
 They took The Kid between them and tottered across 
 the smoking wreckage. . Blackened and burned, with their 
 clothes hanging to them in scorched shreds, they looked 
 strangely inhuman when they gained the cage and pulled the 
 bell wire. In the burned station the monster pump ham 
 mered away unceasingly, "chug! chug! chug!" sweet music 
 to the super s ear. 
 
 In a moment they were up on the surface, up into the 
 air the cool night air, that soaked their parched lungs like 
 nectar. 
 
 Willing and ready hands took the unconscious boy to 
 the bunk house, and the camp doctor was soon patching his 
 wouds, while an anxious crowd waited breathlessly for the 
 verdict. "He is all right," the doctor declared. Has a pretty 
 bad scratch on the head, and has a lot of new hair to grow, 
 but he will come out all right." 
 
THE GOLD BUG STOUT BOOK. : : 
 
 And beneath every Jlannci shirt a warm heart beat exnli- 
 antly, when the verdict was rendered. 
 
 Jackson came down from the mine, just as The Kid 
 i)|)i-iH (l his eyes. He offered a blistered hand to the boy, and 
 the boy took it eagerly. "I wish I had your pluck," said the 
 man. "I didn t know till just now that you were Sam Jimp- 
 son s boy Hud told me while we were in the change room. 
 I could have guessed it, though, while you were fighting fire 
 down in the station. You re a real chip off the original 
 chunk, and I want to bo your partner. Forgive me, any 
 how, lad, what I luivi 1 said and done. I thought you were 
 only, an ordinary boy when I spoke." 
 
 " You were drunk," said The Kid, through his bandages, 
 and with a genuine feeling of pit} . 
 
 "Yes, I know, I know," the stalwart man replied. "It s 
 n iy weakness, lad. We ve all got cm, of one kind or other. 
 But no more booz;> for me at shiftchanging time. 1 m on the 
 water wagon, when it comes to gettin drunk, and I beg that 
 YOU forgive me." 
 
 "Of course I will, if there is anything to forgive," said 
 The Kid, lifting his hand to Jackson s face, and something 
 that glittered and was warm with a big man s devotion and 
 sincerity, fell from Jackson s face upon the Kid s cheek. 
 
<%! 
 
 AN ILL WIND 
 
 CHUCK was over; the night shift had gone down, and 
 the day men were assembled in the bunk house "par 
 lor." The mill was thundering like a hundred hoofs 
 on a stable floor, and the hoist engines puffed, wheezed and 
 snorted as they drew the loaded cages up the shaft. Night 
 had dropped her black mantle over the mountains, and tucked 
 the corners in close and snug around Gold Bug. Stars 
 blinked down through the pines, and the handle of the Big 
 Dipper stuck in the shoulder of Old Baldy. 
 
 In the bunk house "parlor" the diggers lounged, smoked 
 and gabbed. A bright fire crackled from the big box stove, 
 and a dozen candles, stuck in miners sticks, on the walk, or 
 anchored by their own grease to the table, lighted the whis 
 kered faces of the men. Tony Bill, Eucher Buck and John 
 nie Campbell were quarreling over a game of draw poker. 
 Two decks had got mixed during the day, and the final round 
 up located six jacks, five aces and only two kings in the stack. 
 Tony held three of the aces, and made a hard fight for the 
 pot, which at two bits a corner would add materially to two- 
 twenty-five as a day s pay for mucking. Hank Tyson was 
 writing a letter that he was very careful none could read by a 
 sly glance over his shoulder. Slivers was studiously conning 
 a horse book that he had lately become in possession of, and 
 the rest of the crowd filled the corner near the door, where 
 the Spanish Fly and the Old-Timer were telling tales of gold. 
 
 By his own testimony the Spanish Fly had been a mil 
 lionaire three times, and had mined all the way from the 
 Arctic circle to the equator. He prospected Alaska when the 
 Indians up there were using nuggets for fishline sinkers, and 
 was in South Africa when diamonds were still used by the 
 natives to gravel the floors of their huts. 
 
so THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 The Spanish Fly concluded his version of the Golconda 
 diamond discovery, and the diggers turned instinctively to 
 ihe Old-Timer, who was filling his corncob for the third time 
 and poking a splinter through a crack in the stove to get a 
 fight 
 
 "I never was mixed up in any diamond discovery, never 
 have traveled except to hike the trail across Uncle Sam s 
 territory," confessed the Old-Timer, "but I did meet with 
 an experience out in Californy durin the early days, that 
 was most peculiar. Me and my pardner, Jimmy Ladd, had 
 been booting the trail for nigh on two months, and we hadn t 
 found colors enough to paint a flea. It was summer time, an 
 h otter than hammered purgatory. Our beans and bacon 
 were gittin mightly low, an there was just about flour 
 enough for two more good rounds o flapjacks. We knew that 
 strike or no strike, we d have to get out o there purdy soon. 
 Accordin to Jimmy s most careful calculations we were 
 twenty miles off the Funeral mountains, an two hundred 
 miles from a keg o beer, by the shortest route. 
 
 One afternoon we struck camp in a long, straight and 
 deep canyon, unpacked the ponies, and while I hobbled the 
 cayuses, Jimmy fried the bacon, made coffee and fought the 
 smoke with his hat, the while sayin most unpretty thing? 
 about the wood I had dragged up for the fire. 
 
 "When we were eatin supper, and just as Jimmy reached 
 over the fire to fork his third flapjack from the sputtering 
 frying pan, we both sat up straight and took notice of the 
 same peculiar condition. It struck us both all of a sudden, 
 like a boy gettin butted by a billy-goat, that there was some- 
 thin unnatural about that canyon. We gabbed about it a 
 little while and finally figured it out. We discovered that 
 the wind was blowm down the canyon just as steady as a 
 gust from a blacksmith s bellows. There was nothin jerky 
 or irregular about it. It was as smooth as a summer zephyr, 
 yet considerable stronger. And what was more, that wind 
 was greasy ! Color my whiskers red if it wasn t a fact. It 
 had the most unnatural, greasy taste you ever put a tongue 
 to. Jimmy and I thought but little of it then, however, but 
 finished our supper and rolled in early, for we had covered 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. S3 
 
 forty miles that day and were tired enough to have slept on 
 a stack of needles. 
 
 "Next mornin 7 when we awoke the sun had arisen and 
 was shinin the long way of the canyon. Nothin remarkable 
 about the sim doin that, except that it made somethin glit 
 ter and glisten in the w r ool of the blankets, an in the hair 
 of the bosses. It was fine, powdery stuff, and the blankets 
 of the cayuses were thickly dusted with it. Jimmy and me 
 thought it was passin strange that the dust should have 
 settled on us that way .during the night, and the wind hadn t 
 blown very hard. 
 
 "We brushed some of it out, and Jimmy examined it 
 critically from the bottom of his palm. He gave a yell that 
 awoke all the spooks on the funeral range. Color my whis 
 kers red if that dust wasn t gold ! It was the pure metal ; 
 the genuine quill. 
 
 "What caused it, did you ask? Why, the wind that 
 dad-burned greasy wind. It was full of gold dust blowin 
 down that canyon from somewhere; and the funny thing of 
 it was that it only settled on wool or hair, such as our blan 
 kets, the ponies and our own shag tops. We combed three 
 ounces out of the cayuses, four from the blankets, and an 
 ounce out of each of our heads." 
 
 "Did you get any more of it while you were there?" 
 asked Colorado Ned. 
 
 "No," the Old-Timer continued. "Jimmy and me 
 camped in that canyon till we had only six beans left, and 
 spread our blankets separately over the ground every night, 
 so as to offer as much resistance as possible, and waited for 
 that greasy wind to blow again, but I ll be gad-switched if it 
 ever breathed another zephyr, an we had to hike." 
 
 As usual, the Old-Timer held high cards, and the 
 Spanish Fly had nothing more to say. It was time to "douse 
 tbe glim smother the flicker." 
 
? 
 t 
 t 
 
 1 1 
 
 ? 
 
 t 
 t 
 
 THE 
 
 "DARE DEVIL" 
 
 I - I 
 
 LIVERS popped his long whip over the leaders, and 
 the stage was lifted up the steep bank out of Roaring 
 Creek ford. Another crack of the whip, and the 
 four horses hounded into a trot. The coach careened and 
 rolled and tossed, bouncing from one rut to another, from 
 OIK- stene in another, lure-limp: drunkenly from side to side of 
 the road. 
 
 The alkali dust followed in thick rolls, pouring through 
 tbe open flaps of the coach, sifting down the sides, piling on 
 I he seats, and powdering the hair, eyebrows and clothing of 
 the two passengers. 
 
 With his slouched hat dropped down over his face, his 
 dust coat battened high., and one foot lightly on the brake, 
 Slivers kept the horses at a brisk trot, following the winding 
 road up Anna Creek gulch. After an hour, "the mountains 
 that had spread distantly in purple slopes, closed in, reveal 
 ing a detail of bron/ed boulders, straggling pines and scarred 
 juniper. 
 
 The two men in the coach had long since ceased to talk, 
 and were occupied solely at accommodating themselves to 
 the pitching and swaying of the stage. Both were half 
 asleep, which is as nearly asleep as anyone can get on board 
 a tossing Concord. 
 
 Suddenly the stage -topped. Slivers was heard to mut 
 ter an oath, as he -firmly set the brake. Instinctively, the 
 younger of the two passengers aroused and quickly kicked the 
 grip that he had held between his feet, back under the seat. 
 
 A man behind a hlaek mask, fringed with a mass of un 
 kempt red hair, poked a long-barreled revolver through the 
 door and remarked : 
 
 "Sorrv that f must trouble you, but must insist that you 
 
86 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 hand over such trifles as purses, watches, rings and loose cash. 
 To expedite matters, the big man in the corner had best come 
 out." 
 
 "But I am unarmed," the man in the corner assured. 
 "I m only a traveling man camp store supplies bacon, 
 beans, condensed milk 
 
 "Come out !" commanded the robber, gruffly. The 
 drummer lifted his bulky avordupois from the corner, and 
 dropped out with a thump. 
 
 "Stand over there and hold up your hands," further 
 commanded the highwayman, after he had relieved the sales 
 man of his watch and purse. He then returned to the stage 
 door, and resumed operations on the young fellow inside. "I 
 beg your pardon, but you have overlooked your watch." 
 
 Without protest, the young fellow removed the timepiece 
 from his fob and passed it over. 
 
 "Many thanks," said the voice behind the mask, in a 
 tone that was feigned to coarseness. "I hate to trouble you 
 further, but if I am not mistaken, there is a satchel in here 
 that ought to go with the rest of this stuff." 
 
 He fumbled under the seat, but in the confused pile of 
 blankets, robes and halters, failed to locate the object of his 
 search. 
 
 The young fellow noticed, while the robber was stooped, 
 that the red wig neglected to conceal all of the black hair 
 beneath. 
 
 The robber carried his search to the other side. Among 
 other things discovered was a case of muriatic acid on its 
 way to the Gold Bug assay office. It looked like choice soda 
 or mineral water, and the highwayman grinningly jerked a 
 bottle from the case. The glass stopper was broken off, and 
 the fuming liquid boiled instantly across the robber s hand. 
 He dropped the bottle with an oath, and stepping back from 
 the door, turned toward a horse that stood in the shade of a 
 boulder near the road. 
 
 He thrust the revolver into its holster, that he might 
 nurse his burned hand. The young fellow saw his oppor 
 tunity, and leaped out the opposite side of the stage, climbed 
 to the box, and grabbed the Winchester that idly rested by 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 87 
 
 Slivers feet. When he jumped down, his toe caught on the 
 wheel, and he fell headlong across the road, his one shot 
 going wild. The robber vaulted into the saddle and dashed 
 up the bank, his horse madly threshing the chaparral. 
 
 "It was Eed Head again/ Slivers informed, kicking at 
 the brake lever with his boot. "This is the third time he s 
 stopped me the past two months." 
 
 "Why don t you use your gun on him ?" asked the young 
 fellow, as he replaced the weapon in the box. 
 
 "I place a value on my health," Slivers returned. "I m 
 not ready for the boneyard yet, and as Red Head never asks 
 for the mail pouches, I leave im alone." 
 
 "You missed your chance with him today," the young- 
 fellow continued. "You could have made a collander of him 
 while he was busy with us. I wouldn t have let him 
 
 "Looky here, sonny," Slivers retorted. "I drove stage 
 before you could crawl. Mebbe there s somethin about it 
 you can tell me. If my style don t suit you, just register 
 your kick with the road director. Get-ap, Tommy! Get out 
 of this; we can t stand here chewin the rag all day." 
 
 The long whip popped again, and the two passengers 
 scrambled into the coach, which went rattling and bouncing 
 up the road in a cloud of sifting alkali. Nothing more was 
 said, though once Slivers poked his head down to yell below : 
 "You re a dare devil, young feller." This evidently relieved 
 the driver s mind, for he straightened up, shouted at the 
 horses, and on the next five miles of road, hit a pace that 
 fully made up for time lost by the hold-up. To Slivers the 
 robbery was but an incident in an otherwise dull routine, and 
 was soon forgotten. 
 
 After a long swing around Baldy, the stage dropped into 
 a vale, filled with a jumbled litter of miners cabins half 
 canvas, half boards an unpainted bunk and boarding house, 
 box buildings and shops. Over all loomed the big mill and 
 the head-frame. The narrow valley echoed and reverberated 
 with the incessant thunder of the stamp battery. 
 
 The stage drew up at the camp store, and the passen 
 gers got out, the salesman entering the- store to greet the 
 keeper. The young fellow gathered up his grips and looked 
 
88 . THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 around him a little bewildered. He was approached by Hud 
 son, superintendent of the Gold Bug. 
 
 "I take you to be Harry Fields, son of the general mana 
 ger, who has 
 
 "He s a little dare devil/ broke in Slivers, from the 
 box. "He tried to wing Eed Head on the way up." 
 
 "Fields is my name/ said the yourig fellow, giving 
 Slivers remark no heed. "Here s the month s pay," he 
 added, handing over the satchel. "The old gent couldn t 
 come this trip, so he sent it up by me. I brought it in coin, 
 and came near losing it, as I had no gun to stand off Red 
 Head, or whoever it was that held us up this afternoon." - 
 
 "Well, you are a dare devil, sure nough !" the super de- 
 flared, when he took the weighty satchel and eyed the diminu- 
 tive youth. "Your father wrote me you were coming out to 
 wear off the sharp corners. You won t be long getting rid 
 of em at this rate." 
 
 Though he was the son of the general manager, the 
 " dare devil" took a bunk with the men, and shed his finer 
 I M iment for an appropriate suit of brown khaki. By night 
 he had covered pretty much all of the mine, from the lower 
 level pump station to the hoist lookout. He filed in that 
 evening, and ate beans and boiled beef with the crew, ignor 
 ing the special table that the Old Woman thoughtfully set 
 for him. 
 
 After supper he wandered over to the camp store, and 
 while buying a pair of hoghide gloves, came face to face with 
 Katy Worden, daughter of the keeper. She was chatting 
 with Buck Tyson when Fields came in, something she could 
 always be found doing when Buck was off duty. Rumor had 
 it that the black-eyed daughter of the keeper was engaged 
 to Buck, and the knowledge of this around camp kept all 
 others at a cousinly distance. 
 
 Fields would not have interrupted them, but the keeper 
 \\MS out, and the hoghide gloves were badl} r wanted. Per 
 haps it was a desire to get the best pair in stock, perhaps it 
 was the girl s eyes, anyway, the "dare devil" lingered long 
 over the counter till Buck grew tired of waiting, and rest 
 lessly paced the floor. When the young fellow finally closed 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 91 
 
 the bargain, he handed over two silver dollars and told the 
 girl to keep the change, mischievously returning the smile 
 she threw at him. 
 
 When he turned from the counter, Buck stood nearby, 
 scowling wickedly. It struck Fields instantly that there was 
 something strikingly familiar in Buck s face. He struggled 
 momentarily to recall when and where he had seen him be 
 fore, and could soon have remembered had his eye not passed 
 up and down Buck s huge form and found that the miner 
 carried a newly bandaged hand. The discovery changed the 
 course of his thoughts altogether. As he held his gaze upon 
 it uncomfortably long, Tyson put the injured hand in the 
 pocket of his coat. 
 
 Outside the store Fields remembered that this Buck 
 Tyson was a duplicate of the Mike Stickney of his college 
 days the big bully who was known around the "dorm" as 
 "Stick," and whose underhand wickedness led to his expul 
 sion from school, not so much upon the order of the faculty, 
 as upon the urgent request of the students. 
 
 So, when the two met later on the trail near the Dew- 
 drop, Fields held out his hand and greeted: "Shake Stick, 
 I didn t recognize you at first sight down at the store." 
 
 "I ll shake," returned Buck, bluntly, extending his un 
 injured hand, which happened to be his left, "but I guess 
 you re calling up the wrong number." 
 
 "I thought you were Stick Mike Stickney," ventured 
 the "dare devil." 
 
 "My name s Tyson, Buck Tyson," the big miner assured. 
 
 "Then I guess I m wrong. Well, no harm done, any 
 how. Glad to know you. What s the matter with your hand 
 looks like a burn or is it a bruise caught it under a jack, 
 I suppose." 
 
 "Nope, I ve been oft for two days. Rode a frisky horse 
 in from Placer today, and got the top of my hand bit off 
 tryin to bridle im." 
 
 Just then a coyote s yapping cry chimed down from the 
 slopes of Baldy. "Hear that?" said Fields. "Don t that 
 sound natural? Don t that sound mightily like the ki-yi of 
 the Sewer Gang?" 
 
!>> 777 K GOLD BUG ,S7 /, ). JWOK. 
 
 "1 don t kno\v what you re talkin about, 7 declared Buck, 
 igimrantly. "It s just a plain coyote yelp to me/" 
 
 Later on ihai evening, as Fields came down the trail 
 from the >hal t Ixaise, a bullet nipped the edge of his hat 
 brim. It came from the direction of the Dewdrop. The 
 "dare devil 7 believed it to be a stray missile from the bar or 
 the card room, where it had undoubtedly served as an argu 
 ment to settle a dispute. 
 
 The next night another bullet passed his way and made 
 a neat rip in his coat sleeve. This time it came from the 
 shadow of the cyanide plant, and was evidently fired by 
 some one standing under the dripping sump tanks. He went 
 on down to the bunk house, entering the front door just as 
 Iuek Tyson came in from the side. The "dare devil s" eyes 
 were open, and saw that Buck s boots were covered with the 
 Mm 1 slime of tin 1 cyanide sands . 
 
 The following day Fields invested a greenback in one 
 of i he best revolvers Peto Worden had in stock. Buck was 
 surprised that night by having the weapon poked in his face, 
 when lie came into the full light of the Dewdrop window. 
 Pie was more greatly surprised to see the "dare devil" stand 
 ing behind the gun. 
 
 "This is no hold-up/ 7 informed Fields. "I wanted you 
 to know that I am on, that s all. If you ve got a crow to 
 pick with me, bring it out in the open, and we ll pull feathers 
 in daylight." 
 
 "You insinuated that I was Mike 
 
 "I don t care who you are. But I object to being shot 
 at in the dark, and from behind . What does it matter if you 
 are Stick?" 
 
 "I don t want 
 
 "You don t want her to know it? Well, I m not going 
 to sijueal. I ll promise you that." 
 
 "Then I ll be good. Shake !" 
 
 Fields lowered his gun, and took Tyson s hand. They 
 parted, feeling better. 
 
 The incident was only temporarily closed. Two weeks 
 later there was a dance over at the Silver Bell. All the Gold 
 Bug diggers, able to get leave, the "dare devil" among them. 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 93 
 
 climbed into a freight wagon, and with Slivers as driver, 
 went over to the neighboring camp. Buck Tyson and Katy 
 drove over in the roustabout s buckboard. 
 
 The Silver Bell s boarding house was abla/c with light, 
 the bright beams shooting the darkness from the open doors 
 and windows like fire through the cracks of a big box stove. 
 \Vhcn a half mile away, the Gold Bug visitors heard the mer- 
 riment and clatter of revelry, which the thundering battery 
 ol: the mill could not drown. When they reached the border 
 of the camp, they caught the sound of tramping boots and 
 ladies slippers, keeping time to the music of Peg Leg Jim, 
 ilu. 1 fiddler, who, mounted on a table in one corner was doing 
 the double turn of sawing a violin and calling a quadrille. 
 
 "The first two gents cross over/ Peg Leg called, in tune 
 to "Jump-Jim-Crow." "Honors to the right, honors to the 
 left, swing that pretty ladee-ee, and all promenade/ 
 
 The Gold Bug diggers piled out of the wagon and en 
 tered the boarding house just as a husky miner, evidently a 
 lower level mucker, whose feet were painfully encased in a 
 pair of dancing pumps, and who wore a red sash to indicate 
 his official position as chairman of the "floor committee," 
 lustily announced that the next number would be a quadrille. 
 
 There was instantly a wild scurry across the floor to 
 make engagements. Considerable embarrassment was ex 
 perienced because of the extreme scarcity of calico there 
 was only half enough ladies to go round. Katy was the 
 only one from Gold Bug. The Old Woman of the boarding 
 house would gladly have come, but, someway none volun 
 teered, to bring her. 
 
 Her being the prettiest, as well as the best dancer, made 
 many demands upon Katy. That it might be known just 
 how he "stood" with the black-e} r ed beauty from Gold Bug, 
 Buck Tyson claimed every other dance with her. This was 
 unfair, and the "dare devil," prompted principally by a spirit 
 uf fair play, decided to take a hand in the game. 
 
 At the close of the fourth dance, Buck bounded across 
 to reach Katy and claim his regular turn. But he arrived 
 just in time to hear her say her prettiest "Yes, Mr. Fields, 
 ! shall be pleased to assist you in the next." 
 
94 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 "Assist the devil !" Buck hissed through his teeth, as 
 he turned on his heel. "Assist! That s a " blamed pretty 
 way to put it. I ll show im what we diggers think of his 
 standin collar, biled shirt and fine manners. This ain t 
 college this is Silver Bell, by gravey, and I m Buck Tyson." 
 
 Buck s mutterings were unheard, but he was consider 
 ably relieved after delivering himself of them. He went out 
 and said other things to the blackness of the night. Out 
 there he met Tony Bill, who had just been "turned down 
 by a Silver Bell lass, and the two found sweet consolation in 
 an exchange of troubles. 
 
 "Are you out o -luck, Buck?" Tony inquired. 
 
 "Just two swigs left, Tony, here." He pulled a bottle 
 and passed it over. 
 
 Inside, the music struck up, and both the fiddle and 
 Peg Leg jumped into the wild canter of "Run, Nigger, Run," 
 with a call of, 
 
 "S lute yer pardners let er go, 
 
 Balance all an do-se-do, 
 
 Swing yer girls an run away, 
 
 Right an left an gents sashay, 
 
 Gents to right an swing or cheat, 
 
 On to the next gal an repeat !" 
 
 The music and the merriment were unheard by the two 
 aggrieved diggers from Gold Bug. Tony put the bottle to 
 his lips, threw back his head, and gazed with half closed eyes 
 at the Milky Way. Then Buck took the flask and studied 
 the constellations for a while, after which a "dead soldier" 
 was consigned to a sage bush. 
 
 A little while later, Buck shambled across the dancing 
 room, drunkenly dodging the couples that were strenuously 
 attempting to execute Peg Leg s call of, 
 
 "Al man left an balance all, 
 
 Lift yer hoofs and let em fall, 
 
 Swing yer op sites, swing again, 
 
 Back to pardners, do-se-do, 
 
 All jine hands an off you go, . 
 
 Hitch an promenade to seats ! ?? 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 95 
 
 Buck wore his new Stetson well down over his left eye 
 an inevitable sign that trouble was brewing. 
 
 "We had the ball well over in their territory," Fields 
 was telling Katy in his rattling way, when Buck approached. 
 "We were making our yardage every down, and reached the 
 25-yard line, where the captain gave the signal to pass the 
 pigskin back for a punt. I was playing quarter, and was 
 
 "Say, sonny, I d like to see you outside durin the next 
 dance," broke in Buck, making his presense known prin 
 cipally by a smart slap on the "dare devil s" back. 
 
 "I had just slipped the ball to the half, when he fumbled, 
 and let it" 
 
 "Time !" yelled Buck, angrily. "It was a foul, anyhow." 
 
 "I said fumble," persisted Fields. 
 
 "No matter what it was, I want to see you outside." 
 
 "All right, sir. I have no engagement for the next 
 dance, and will be pleased to see you." 
 
 Buck turned on his heel, and careened out of the room, 
 leaving an odor of bad liquor behind him. 
 
 Fields resumed his football story, getting his college 
 team safely in for a touchdown and a clean goal kick, much 
 to Katy s delight. He remained with her till the next dance 
 was called, then arose to keep his appointment with Buck. 
 
 When he reached the door something was clinging to 
 him, and looking down, he found Katy holding to his arm.. 
 There was real terror in her eyes. She trembled, as if struck 
 by a strange fear. "Please be careful of Buck," she said. 
 He s mad about something, and is a bad man at times." 
 
 "Don t worry about me, Miss Worden," Fields replied, 
 cheerfully. "I understand Buck, and think he means well. 
 But since you ask it, I will be careful. Go enjoy the next 
 dance; that stoper over there is running his boots off trying 
 to find you." With a polite bow, he turned in the door and 
 went out into the yard. 
 
 But Katy did not enjoy the next dance, in truth, .did 
 not dance at all. She begged to be excused, something she 
 had never done before, and slipped quietly from the room. 
 She went out the side door, and followed the deep shadow of 
 the boarding house wall, hiding behind a clump of sage. 
 
% THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 A few yards away a crowd was gathered. In its center 
 Buck Tyson fumed and swore, working himself into a rage 
 over an imaginary grievance. "You may be the main pearl 
 of the cluster back in Boston, sonny, but you re just plain 
 base rock out here. You re in the Big Creek country now. 
 did you know that?". 
 
 "I m sorry I have offended you, Buck," Fields declared. 
 "I have tried to be square I have tried to be a gentleman." 
 
 "Gentleman, hell !" roared Buck. "No gentleman would 
 monopolize a lady the way you have tonight. She s engaged 
 to me, do you know that? And I will fight for her just the 
 same as if she was my wife." 
 
 "That s certainly a manly spirit, Buck," the "dare devil" 
 replied, commendably. "But I am at a loss to know -your 
 trouble. Maybe it s private; if so, we ll ask the boys to ex 
 cuse us, and we ll talk it over alone." 
 
 "Naw, it ain t private," yelled Buck, savagely. "We ve 
 got several things to settle, and the only way I can see is to 
 fight." 
 
 "Fight? I m not particularly fond of it. I would pre^ 
 fer to arbitrate our little difference." 
 
 " You won t fight, eh? Then you re a damned coward." 
 
 "You ll take that back, you cur!" declared the "dare 
 devil." His face grew white and tense. His black eyes 
 snapped in the light from the dancing room. He threw off 
 his coat and stood fearlessly before the bully, his fists 
 clenched, his arms bare to the elbow. He knew he was again 
 facing Mike Stickncy of his college days, facing "Stick" of 
 the Sewer Gang. 
 
 "Here I am," cried the "dare devil," "without knife or 
 pistol, ready to meet you. Come on. I m no coward, I ll 
 promise you that." 
 
 A fist fight was not the sort of trouble Buck wanted, and 
 far from the kind he expected. He was confident the "dare 
 devil", would beg off or draw his gun. It was up to him to 
 make the bluff good. 
 
 "Take off your gun, Buck," demanded the crowd, "you 
 must meet him fair." 
 
 Buck reluctantly unstrapped his holster, and tossed aside 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 97 
 
 his Stetson. He towered head and shoulders over the diminu 
 tive figure of the "dare devil." It was much like a match 
 between a giant and a pigmy. 
 
 The two put themselves on guard, and made ready for 
 the opening blow. At that moment Katy jumped quickly 
 from her hiding place and stood between them. "What is 
 the meaning of this ?" she asked, as if she knew nothing 
 about it. "Must you two fight like curs ?" 
 
 "He called me a coward/ explained Fields, apologeti 
 cally. He folded his arms and waited, as if anticipating a 
 further command from her. 
 
 "He s drunk/ frankly informed the girl, that the "dare 
 devil" might have full appreciation of Buck s irresponsibility. 
 "Stop your quarreling, both of you." 
 
 It was a command from Katy, and Fields turned to 
 pick up his coat. The crowd gave a regretful sigh, believing 
 the bout was called off. 
 
 "Aw, this don t go," Buck snorted. "You go in the 
 house, Katy, an let us settle this. It s no affair of yours." 
 He took her by the arm and pushed her rudely toward the 
 door. 
 
 "I ll make it an affair of mine," snapped Katy, jerk 
 ing free of his grasp. Turning to Fields, she commanded, 
 sharply: "Fight him, he has insulted you and me." 
 
 The "dare devil" quickly peeled his coat. With a cat 
 like bound he landed both fists on Buck, the terrible. His 
 blows came with such rapidity that the big miner could not 
 wink between them. Upper cuts, swings, straight arms, 
 sweeps, all figured in the "dare devil s" manipulations. He 
 landed anywhere he chose on Buck s fighting front. Blood 
 spurted from the bully s pummeled nose, and his whiskey- 
 dazed eyes were blinded. A final undercut lifted him from 
 his feet and dropped him sprawling to his back. 
 
 The crowd yelled. It was the best exhibition of stand- 
 up-and-take fighting that the diggers of the Big Creek 
 country had ever seen. 
 
 The "dare devil" stood by and waited for Buck to rise. 
 The big miner finally pulled himself together and came up 
 
98 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 fast and furious. Eeason had left him,, and he was the mad 
 brute who in other days, had led the Sewer Gang. 
 
 Fields made ready to parry the expected blow, but his 
 blood turned suddenly cold with the gleam of a knife in 
 Buck s upraised hand. The "dare devil" nimbly dodged the 
 thrust and pounced upon the miner from behind, pinning 
 his arms down and wrenching the blade from his grasp. 
 Then he turned him round and drove a fist straight into 
 Buck s face. Tyson fell heavily, groaning and cursing on 
 the ground. This time he did not rise, and the crowd called 
 time. 
 
 Fields recovered his breath, and a smile drove the palor 
 from his face. He handed Buck s knife to one of the crowd. 
 "Give it to him when he comes round," said he, calmly. "Fm 
 sorry T had to take it from him." 
 
 "And here is something more to give him," said Katy. 
 She slipped a ring from her finger and passed it over. Then 
 she hastened to Fields, overtaking him near the door. She 
 took his hand and looked into his face. Her eyes, as she 
 raised them to his, were moist and glowing. In them Fields 
 read the story of a young woman s heart, and there was dis 
 closed to him a new and wonderful thing. 
 
 "You have done nobly," she said. "You gave him what 
 he deserved." 
 
 "I am sorry I had to fight," he replied, regretfully. "I 
 am sorry this happened. We will forget that it ever did 
 happen." 
 
 She beamed upon him again with mingled forgiveness 
 and approval. Arm in arm they entered the dance room. 
 Peg Leg s droning fiddle became an orchestra, the candles 
 glittered like jeweled chandeliers, and the rough-beamed din 
 ing room glowed with color. To the "dare devil," who had 
 fought a fair fight, and won, the whole world smiled with 
 love and content. 
 
 Buck Tyson left the Big Creek country and was seen no 
 more at Gold Bug. 
 
t 
 
 
 THE SILVER 
 CANDLESTICK 
 
 
 t 
 
 Gold Bug s clean-up went out once a month. Just 
 when it went, and how, were matters that belonged 
 solely to Hudson, the super; Henderson, the amal 
 gamator, and Colonel Fields, the general manager. The 
 Colonel came in on the 15th of each month to hand out the 
 pink slips, the yellow eagles or the silver bucks. He would 
 remain four or five days, and return over the road on Nero, 
 his yellow-eyed broncho. Sometimes he took the gold with 
 him; at other times it went out on the buckboard; and now 
 and then he sent it out by Slivers on the stage. 
 
 One February he came out as usual, arriving on the 
 15th, just five days ahead of one of the biggest snowstorms 
 that ever buried Gold Bug under its feather tick. The crew 
 received its monthly pay, deals and debts were squared down 
 at the Dewdrop, and at midnight the camp buckled down for 
 another month s routine. 
 
 Early on the 22nd the amalgamator carried the general 
 manager s saddle-bag from the retorting room of the mill- 
 house over to the office. The saddle-bag hung from his hand 
 as is filled with lead. He laid it down on the floor near the 
 desk, and a little while later the Colonel prepared to leave. 
 
 On the night previous, and while eating supper with the 
 diggers at the boarding house, the general manager reminded 
 the men that next day was February 22nd. 
 
 Washington s Birthday, at Gold Bug, was unique among 
 all other days of the year. On that day every man of the 
 crew, from The Kid of the lower level pump station, to 
 Mickey Donnell, the camp routsabout, made an extra effort 
 to "tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth." 
 It was a strain of great tensity on the nervous system of the 
 camp, but since capital was placed on veracity, for that one 
 
100 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 day at least, the effort was well worth the sacrifice. The 
 Gold Bug management gave a prize to the man who could 
 give the best account of himself at the day s close. This 
 year the prize offered was a miner s silver candlestick. The 
 general manager had the stick made especially for the occa 
 sion, and every part of it, from the loop to the beak, was the 
 pure white metal of Colorado. 
 
 Simpson, the foreman, held it over the mess table, where 
 the light from the candles made it glitter like a jewel. "The 
 digger who gets this will be well paid for tellin the truth/ 
 said the foreman. "But it must be remembered that no sort 
 of a lie will pass tomorrow not for the one who gets this 
 stick. There ain t many cherry trees around Gold Bug to 
 tempt us, but there are many easy chances to let our tongues 
 slip there are many ways to tell a lie, and still keep silent. 
 This stick goes to the man who is most successful in standin 
 off a falsehood, or who can prove that he made the best fight 
 to prevent deception." 
 
 On the morning of the 22nd. the storm that had been 
 scouting along the backbone of the Big Creek mountains for 
 several days, scattering light volleys of snow, joined the main 
 forces, and charged with full fury upon the pine-whiskered 
 ranges. The general manager donned his bear coat, cap and 
 gloves, and with only his nose exposed to the wind, mounted 
 Nero and struck through the storm toward Boulder. The 
 heavy saddle-bag was strapped to the saddle. 
 
 In less than an hour he was back at the office, warming 
 his back before the fire that crackled and leaped in the broad 
 fireplace. "The storm didn t bother me," he explained to 
 Dixon, "but Nero lost his wind couldn t keep his pace the 
 blamed hostler must have fed him too much barley this morn 
 ing, for he s pretty nearly foundered. I had Tom throw the 
 bags off before he took the broncho to the stable. It s out on 
 the porch; I wish you would bring it in Dixon, as I want to 
 cache that luchre." 
 
 The bookkeeper went out, admitting a blinding gust 
 when he opened the door. He returned shortly, and laid the 
 saddle-bag on the desk, putting it down dubiously with a 
 strange expression on his face. "I understood you to remark 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 101 
 
 that you had carried the month s clean-up in this bag/ said 
 he, quizzically. 
 
 "Yes, that s right/ the manager replied. 
 
 "Well, there s something wrong. If that gold is in here 
 now, you certainly had a light clean-up this month. This 
 bag is light as cotton. One side of it is open." 
 
 The Colonel had been half asleep before the fire. The 
 bookkeeper s words awoke him instantly. "What s that?" 
 he exclaimed. "Opened, you say?" He spoke sharply, and 
 came toward the desk, lifting the bag apprehensively. Then 
 he thrust his hand through the open flap. The bag was 
 empty ! "The gold is gone, every ounce of it, over $20,000 !" 
 
 "The bag was just as you see it now, when I picked it 
 up," said Dixon, hurriedly, to ward off possible suspicion. 
 
 "I know," the manager replied. "The gold was care 
 lessly put in the bag, and fell out. I dropped it out on the 
 road, and it s now buried under the snow. I may have lost 
 it only a short distance out. Go tell Simpson to saddle the 
 two roans and come around at once. I want him to go with 
 me. We may be able to find it if we hit the road at once." 
 
 Dixon jumped into his Coat and dashed up the trail to 
 the shaft house. Simpson had just come up from the lower 
 level, and the bookkeeper made known the trouble. Within 
 five minutes the two roans were stamping and snorting by 
 the office door; within six, the general manager and the fore 
 man were in the saddle, and dashing down the snow-piled 
 road. The fleece had ceased falling, but the wind blew with 
 increased fury, biting icily at their exposed cheeks. 
 
 A half-mile from camp they came upon the sorrel team 
 of Mickey, the roustabout. Mickey lived with Peg Leg, the 
 fiddler, and their cabin stood off from the road a short dis 
 tance, completely concealed by tall chaparral and rank cinna 
 mon. The sorrels were steaming, and the newly-cut tracks 
 indicated that the buckboard had just come up the road, and 
 that the team had only recently been tied, possibly to wait a 
 few minutes while the roustabout stopped at the cabin. 
 There was a chance that Mickey, who had just come over the 
 road, had found the gold. 
 
 "We better stop and ask him about it," suggested the 
 
102 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 Colonel. "Mickey may have seen it as he came along. My 
 trail is only partially obscured, and the gold would not be 
 completely covered, unless piled under a drift." 
 
 "I think the gold would be safer on the road than in 
 Mickey s hands," declared Simpson. "I wouldn t trust either 
 he or Peg Leg with a punctured poker chip/ 
 
 "I suppose Mickey isn t very reliable," the Colonel re 
 turned, "but his bad reputation has come to him, no doubt, 
 through his association with Peg Leg. Possibly it would be 
 best for us to approach the cabin afoot, that we may not make 
 any noise. The team s being tied up out here looks suspici 
 ous. T am unable to understand why Mickey should stop 
 unless he had business of importance at the cabin." 
 
 They left their ponies on the road, and proceeded cauti 
 ously toward the cabin. Smoke blew thinly from the low 
 chimney, and when the two men reached the back well, they 
 heard Peg Leg talking loudly. The general manager and 
 Simpson put their ears to a chink and listened. 
 
 "What you want to take it back to the mine for ? They 
 will never miss it," Peg Leg was heard to say. 
 
 "But he did miss it," Mickey answered. "I saw his 
 tracks where he wheeled and came back." 
 
 "He ll never expect to find it. If you hadn t come 
 across it, it would soon have been buried under the snow. 
 We ll freeze on to it. The Gold Bug has plenty more, and 
 these four bricks will never be missed." 
 
 "I don t see it that way," Mickey answered, "I m going 
 to take it back." 
 
 "The hell you are !" 
 
 "That s just what I am. It don t belong to me, and I d 
 feel devilish squeamish with so much wealth around me." 
 
 "You re a little fool," Peg Leg informed him, bitterly. 
 "This is lost money the loser to weep, the finder to keep." 
 
 "No, it ain t mine. I m going to take it back. If I 
 had found it on some other day, I might have kept it, or 
 some of it, but today do you know what day this is?" 
 
 "Aw, shut up !" yelled Peg Leg, stamping the floor with 
 his wooden limb. "What s the use of you and I bein poor 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 105 
 
 devils all our lives, when we have a chance like this to make 
 a haul?" 
 
 "I want to make mine some other way/ Mickey said. 
 "I d enjoy my chuck better, and I know I d sleep without 
 fear of the jim-jams. No need chewing the rag, the bricks 
 go back/ 
 
 "You ll get my consent first, I ll tell you that," Peg 
 Leg fiercely declared. "Let go that bag, drop it, I say." 
 
 "]S T o, I can t do it, Peg." 
 
 The fiddler swore as only a fiddler can. Then the two 
 men heard him stamp on the floor, as he wrestled with Mic 
 key to get possession of the gold. 
 
 "Stand back, Peg, stand back," Mickey warned. Then 
 came the sound of a struggle, as the two fought over the gold. 
 Peg Leg was much the larger of the two, and from the peep 
 hole Simpson saw him force the roustabout to a corner. 
 
 "We d better go and pull him off," said the foreman, 
 "for he s getting desperate and might do Mickey consider 
 able damage." 
 
 They rushed around to the front and pushed in the door. 
 Peg Leg had floored Mickey with a chair, and was savagely 
 jabbing him with his wooden leg. Though blood spurted 
 from a broken nose and a bad cut on his head, the roustabout 
 would not release his hold upon the treasure. 
 
 Simpson took Peg Leg by the scuff of the neck, and sent 
 him spinning to a further corner of the cabin. Then he 
 lifted Mickey to his feet. 
 
 "It s a good thing wo stopped," said the general man 
 ager. "We were none too soon, and would have got in sooner 
 had we known that one-legged maverick would attempt to 
 murder you. You re true blue, Mickey, and no mistake. We 
 heard you talk, and know you have the proper stuff in you. 
 I ll take you to the office, and have your head patched up. 
 Bring Peg Leg along with you, Simpson. We ll tell the boys 
 the straight of it tonight, and let them kangoroo him." 
 
 A little while later Mickey lay at ease on the big couch 
 in a warm mine office, with the camp doctor working over 
 him. The four bricks reposed safely in the vault, and the 
 general manager, settled deep in an armchair before the fire, 
 
106 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 idly amused himself at blowing the smoke that floated over 
 him from his glowing cigar. 
 
 That evening, after "chuck" was over, and just before 
 the night shift went on, the crew assembled in the bunkhouse 
 "parlor." Simpson called to order, and those who had exerted 
 themselves during the day to prevent, a slip of the tongue, 
 gave their experience. The "Benedict," who occupied a cabin 
 alone, who was never known to treat anyone except him 
 self, and who was always without tobacco when approached 
 for a "chew," confessed his ownership of a plug to all comers 
 that day; Tony Bill had said no word about the Bowery, and 
 frankly admitted to those who asked him concerning it, that 
 he was an ex-member of the Whyes; even the Old-Timer 
 had denied himself his beloved tales of "Californy," and the 
 diggers were on the point of voting him the candle stick, 
 when the door opened and the general manager came in, lead 
 ing Mickey by the arm. Of all the crew, Mickey was at 
 least expected to be in line for the prize. His bandaged face 
 prevented his telling the story, so the Colonel told it for him, 
 with greater embellishment than Mickey would have given it. 
 
 When the manager was done, the tales of the Benedict, 
 Tony Gill and the Old-Timer were as waste on a tailings pile 
 Mickey s deed was the real yellow metal in the retorting 
 pot. 
 
 The vote that followed was unanimous. The candle 
 stick went to Mickey. 
 

 A CONFUSION of 
 GOODS 
 
 
 HEN Lem Golden learned that his Sister Ann was 
 coming all the way from Dakota to make him a visit 
 he prepared to quit his seat at the boarding house 
 mess table. He straightway put one of the camp cabins in fit 
 condition for company. Education had taught him taste, 
 necessity had taught him handiness, and by the aid of the two 
 he transformed the rude cabin into something approaching 
 the rooms of his home out on the Dakota plains. He divided 
 the cabin into three parts : drawing room, curiosity shop and 
 kitchen. The latter department was given all due considera 
 tion by Lem, as he was not alone to have the pleasure of his 
 sister s company during the summer, but would enjoy a 
 respite from the "camp sinkers" and "mulligan" of the board 
 ing house. The hot biscuits his sister could bake would, 
 indeed, be a welcome change. So the freight wagon brought 
 in a real cook stove. Then cups, saucers and spoons, pots and 
 kettles appeared as. if by magic. 
 
 Unfortunately for Lem, though fortunate for another, as 
 later developments proved, he was caught between the cage 
 door and a station beam just a few days before^he time for 
 his going out to Boulder to meet his sister, and was so badly 
 bruised by the squeeze that l 1 ^ could not make the trip. It 
 became necessary, therefore, for Lem to send someone else. 
 There was not a digger in camp but who would gladly have 
 gone, had he been asked, and more than one voluntarily 
 hinted his willingness to meet and escort the young woman to 
 Gold Bug. 
 
 After due consideration Lem decided that Barney May- 
 field was the most competent of all. Barney was his bunkie 
 and Barney was his friend; more than that, Barney was his 
 cousin, and flesh and blood go a long way in the conferring 
 of special favors. 
 
108 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 So Barney togged himself in his best, buying a new Stet 
 son and a full suit of corduroy for the occasion. He also 
 bought the biggest and brightest crimson tie carried in the 
 camp store. It was of the four-in-hand kind, and Barney, 
 with a real miner s clumsiness, could not arrange it alone. 
 Lena arranged it for him, with the understanding that it was 
 to remain so arranged till after Barney s return. 
 
 In due time Barney was fully prepared for the journey. 
 The express boxes were slid under the stage seats, the mail 
 pouches were stuffed into the boot and strapped in, Slivers 
 cracked his blacksnake over the leaders, and Barney left Gold 
 Bug amid the cheers and hurrahs of a crowd that had assem 
 bled at the camp store to see him off. The stage bounded 
 and rattled down the road, diving into the canyon, and leav 
 ing a thin trail of dust in its wake. 
 
 According to schedule, the stage made the 40-mile trip 
 to Boulder in one day, remaining over night and returning 
 to Gould Bug the day following. The train arrived at six in 
 the morning, just a half hour before the stage departed. 
 
 On the morning that Miss Anna Golden was expected 
 the train was three-quarters of an hour late, and Slivers was 
 obliged to hold the stage, a circumstance that always brought 
 from him such remarks as only stage drivers are capable of 
 making. To Slivers credit, however, be it known that on 
 this occasion his remarks were confined to the more secluded 
 precincts of the stage stable, and were heard only by the 
 horses and the hostler. 
 
 Barney Mayfield never suffered a longer half hour than 
 that passed by him before the arrival of the delayed train. 
 He had not slept much that night, because of his fear that he 
 might not awake in time to be at the depot when the train 
 came in. Then, to add to his discomfort, one side of his crim 
 son tie came down, and though Barney worked heroically to 
 replace it, he could not readjust it to the crisp, smart shape 
 it was before. It hung as limp and shapeless as a dish-rag on 
 a line and, finally, in a fit of disgust, Barney told the look 
 ing-glass that "the darn thing could hang." 
 
 At last the train came. Since it paused but a brief time 
 at the station, Barney made haste to climb into the vestibule 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 109 
 
 and entered the rear chair car. He had never seen Miss Anna 
 Golden, but Lem had so frequently described her that he 
 knew he could recognize her instantly brown hair, dark 
 "hazel" eyes, round cheeks, quite plump. 
 
 Barney stood a little while at the door and looked down 
 the car. Most of the passengers were asleep and were doubled 
 and stretched in various styles of discomfort on the narrow 
 seats. Everybody snored. 
 
 Near the middle of the car a young woman, attired in 
 a neat white waist and trim blue skirt, and a dainty hat 
 poised on her head, half arose and looked at Barney expect 
 antly. She reached for a traveling case and umbrella in the 
 rack, and by thisj as well as her general resemblance to Lena s 
 oft-repeated description, Barney knew she was Miss Anna 
 Golden. He walked hurriedly and confidently down the aisle. 
 "Wait a minute," said he, "I ll get them down for you." 
 Then he added : "And how is my little cousin this morning ?" 
 
 "Oh, fine," she responded, extending her hand. "I am 
 glad you came; they said you would meet me; and I came 
 near passing my station, as I was dozing a moment ago." 
 
 "This is the place," Barney replied, taking her hand. 
 There was such a warmness in the grasp, such an air of 
 genuine cordiality about her, such a pretty smile upon her 
 lips, that well, he did what all good and true cousins are 
 privileged to do. He stooped and kissed her on the cheek. It 
 brought a bright crimson blush, but after it was all over she 
 smiled at him even more prettily than before. 
 
 He took up her load and followed her down the car and 
 out on the platform. Her trunk was put aboard the stage, 
 and in a little while the two occupied a seat all alone in the 
 coach and were whirling along the dusty road, oblivious to the 
 alkali. 
 
 "How did you recognize me so quickly ?" she asked, when 
 they were some distance out from Boulder. 
 
 "Well, you was the only one in the car who was ready 
 to get off." 
 
 "But there might have been several women ready to get 
 off with me ; in fact, another one did get off, but she came out 
 of the other car. I saw her walking around the platform, 
 
110 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 looking about anxiously while you was putting my trunk on 
 the stage. You might have taken her for me." 
 
 "Yes, but I didn t," Barney returned with a triumphat 
 smile. "I knew you the minute I spotted you. I would have 
 known you on Fifth avenue or Broadway, or any other of 
 them places where people are as thick as flies on a molasses 
 keg. I couldn t help but know you after Lem s description 
 of you. 
 
 "Lem?" spoke the young woman instantly. "Who is 
 Lem ?" 
 
 "Oh, come on, you re coddin me/ returned Barney, a 
 sickly smile appearing suddenly on his face. "You don t 
 mean to tell me you don t know your own brother?" 
 
 "I have no brother," declared the young woman, drawing 
 away from him. "I thought you were my cousin, Max Free 
 man, from the Silver Bell. He was to meet me. What have 
 you done ? Where are you taking me ?" 
 
 I though you were Miss Anna Golden," Barney stam 
 mered. "Her brother sent me out to meet her. I am from 
 Gold Bug." 
 
 The young woman put her handkerchief to her face and 
 Barney was become of the awful fear that she was going to 
 cry. A peculiar coldness and numbness took possession of 
 him. Such a predicament as this he was altogether unpre 
 pared to meet. He was sorry, very sorry; not that he had 
 been courteous and kind to her, that he had even gone so far 
 as to kiss her, but sorry that he had made such a mistake. 
 The real Anna Golden was no doubt waiting patiently at the 
 depot, wondering why no one came for her. 
 
 "We must go back," the young woman declared. "Cousin 
 Max will be looking for me." 
 
 Since it was the only plausible and reasonable thing to 
 do, Barney offered no objections, and crawled up to make ex 
 planations to Slivers. Barney fully expected to hear Slivers 
 deliver a string of oaths that would make an Irish tar turn 
 blue with envy, but much to his surprise, Slivers doubled up 
 on the seat and laughed; laughed so violently and heartily 
 that he mixed his lines and let both leaders get astride of the 
 tongue. 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 113 
 
 The stage was turned about on the back track for 
 Boulder. Barney and the young woman settled down to make 
 the best of the situation. 
 
 Now that things were working towards proper adjust 
 ment, Barney felt better. He made up his mind to at least 
 become acquainted with the girl. Why not? She was good 
 looking, she was gracious, she was tasty in dress, she was 
 plump ; Barney could ask no more. 
 
 "You say you are going out to Silver Bell ?" he inquired. 
 
 "Yes, Cousin Max works out there, and has secured a 
 place for me at the boarding house." 
 
 "Slinging ha waiting on table?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the girl, lowly, from behind her hand 
 kerchief. "Isn t that all right?" 
 
 "Certainly it s all right; but I was just thinking." 
 
 "Thinking of what ? It s pretty late for you to be think 
 ing. You should have been thinking when you came into the 
 car, and not imposed upon an innocent, helpless woman." 
 
 "I m sorry I treated you the way I have." 
 
 "Your treatment has been all right, I suppose, consider 
 ing the circumstances. You have been kind, but you were un 
 thinking. It vexed me to think that I took up with you so 
 readily, that I let you 
 
 "You thought I was your cousin." 
 
 "But you are not." 
 
 "No, I am not, but even though we are not cousins, it is 
 all right, anyway," Barney smiled at her and received a faint 
 smile in return. "It is all right, because we seem to have a 
 sort of liking for each other, as people sometimes have. I 
 liked you the moment I first glimpsed you. I just couldn t 
 help but like you. I guess it is one of these affinity cases that 
 we read about." 
 
 Notwithstanding its frankness, there was something 
 pleasing in Barney s philosophy, and the girl liked it, as she 
 knew she liked him. There was more than empty flattery in 
 what he said; there was eloquence, the rough, unpolished 
 eloquence of a miner, but above all there was genuine sin 
 cerity. 
 
114 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 "I am glad you like me," she admitted, removing her 
 handkerchief, and gazing at him with a lonely, almost sad 
 look glowing from the eyes where tears still lingered tardily, 
 "but strangers should not be as familiar as we have been." 
 
 "Someway, we don t seem like strangers/ 7 Barney said. 
 "Seems that I have known you for a long time." 
 
 "We must not forget that we are strangers," she de 
 manded, retreating again to her corner, as if to close the 
 entire incident. 
 
 But Barney did not intend that matters should end that 
 way. "Now, look here," said he, coming straight to the 
 point. "You and I have been thrown together by some power 
 unknown to us, and over which we have no control. I always 
 figure it out that there is a reason for these things. When 
 ever anything happens to me that I don t understand or can t 
 explain, instead of passing it up and forgetting it, I just 
 conclude that it means or will mean something to me, and by 
 and by I find out that it does. You have been brought across 
 my trail for a good purpose. You say you are going out to 
 Silver Bell to sling to wait on table. That s where you 
 planned to go, but that strange power has switched you off 
 the path and headed you toward Gold Bug, a better, bigger 
 camp than Silver Bell ever was or ever will be." 
 
 The girl smiled aloud. "You re clever," said she. "You 
 should have had some one better than I to pour that talk 
 upon." 
 
 "It has been reserved for you," Barney declared. "I did 
 not know I carried any such talk in stock, but the one for 
 whom it is meant having appeared, and the time having ar 
 rived, I am obliged to deliver it. But as I was saying, or 
 going to say why can t you go out to Gold Bug? I don t 
 want you to sling to wait on table at Silver Bell; it would 
 be too hard for you." 
 
 "It would be no harder than waiting on table at Gold 
 Bug," said the girl. 
 
 "What s the use of your doing either ? I have a different 
 plan in my mind. There are several pretty little cabins up 
 there; you can pick out the best one. and I ll see that it s 
 fixed fine and dandy. I have a good job, and will guarantee 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 115 
 
 that there will be plenty coming right along to keep the two 
 of us comfortable." 
 
 The girl leaned her head against the door sill and looked 
 out across the bronzed mountains, now glorious in the crimson 
 and purple of morning. The smile left her face. She knew 
 the man was not jesting. She knew he was in earnest. She 
 did not drop her head to peep up through her eyelashes and 
 say : "Oh, this is so sudden/ Such a remark would have been 
 imminently appropriate, but it is one that comes from the lips 
 of those who have heard such proposals many times before. 
 
 Barney looked at her and waited, but she made no reply. 
 Finally she turned her head from the door and looked at him, 
 and though she spoke no word, the warmth of a lonely 
 woman s soul glowed in her eyes and Barney understood. He 
 was right ; they were not strangers, though they had never met 
 before. He lifted his hat, and with bared head, raised her 
 hand to his lips. 
 
 In a little while they were back at the depot, with the 
 stage backed up to the platform. Slivers was still gurgling 
 with unrestrained laughter. This joke on Barney Mayfield 
 was the richest Slivers had come upon for several trips, and 
 he intended to enjoy it to the full. 
 
 Barney helped the young woman out, and the two of 
 them skirmished hurriedly around the depot in quest of the 
 lost cousins. They found them in the waiting room, and Bar 
 ney was again obliged to explain the situation. "Cousin 
 Max ? received it soberly, but "Cousin Anna" enjoyed it even 
 more than Slivers. 
 
 And since the thing was to be settled at once and for all 
 time, Slivers held the stage while Barney "rustled" a license 
 and a preacher. They all boarded the stage and drove a little 
 way out of Boulder, where the ceremony was performed in the 
 old Concord, with Slivers and "Cousin Max" as best men. It 
 did not occur to Barney till then that he did not know the 
 young woman s name. 
 
 "It was Emma Medley," said the girl, with a merry 
 laugh. 
 
 "But it s something else now," Barney replied, after the 
 minister spoke the word. 
 
f 
 
 WHEN THE RED 
 JACKET PAID 
 
 Eed Jacket was a sort of annex to Gold Bug. It 
 was located about a half mile further up the canyon, 
 and was a part of the properties of the Gold Bug 
 Mining Company. There was a 20-stamp mill on the Eed 
 Jacket, and the men employed on the day and night shifts 
 were a part of the Gold Bug crew. Hudson, the super, kept 
 the 20 stamps pounding night and day, though both he and 
 the Gold Bug management knew the Eed Jacket wasn t pay 
 ing. But to hang up stamps was something Hudson would 
 not do. The thunder and roar of a stamp mill was music 
 to his ears, even though the price was dear. 
 
 One day a young fellow, clad in khiki and miner s boots, 
 came in on the stage. He went at once to the superintendent s 
 office and introduced himself. The introduction, together 
 with the letter of instructions received by Hudson a few days 
 before, put him by the knowledge that the young fellow was 
 Layton Pelford, the new super the general manager had sent 
 all the way from the East to take charge of the Eed Jacket. 
 
 Hudson led him to the door and pointed a fat finger up 
 the gulch. "You ll find Eed Jacket up the canyon yonder, 
 just beyond the waste dump," he directed. "There are 12 
 men on the day shift and 10 on the night; the booky can give 
 you the list. The candles are at the blacksmith shop, and the 
 powder is in the mag. Won t you come have a drink ?" 
 
 "No thanks," the newcomer returned, "it s against my 
 rules." 
 
 "All rules miss fire out here," Hudson returned, leaving 
 the office abruptly and hitting the trail for the Dewdrop. The 
 Eed Jacket and its new super were dismissed from his mind 
 for all time. The new super jumped around like a brown 
 grasshopper on a hot stove. He was all over the surface work 
 ings in less than an hour,, inspecting every part of the Eed 
 
118 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 Jackets equipment from the shop bellows to the smelter. He 
 mounted the skip and went down the incline, stopping on 
 every level and dodging into each drift and tunnel. Shortly 
 after he emerged, the Red Jacket stamps were hung up, and 
 the machine drills pulled out of the stopes. 
 
 That evening, after the supper clatter had subsided at 
 the mess house, and the night shift was getting its canvas 
 coats from the change room, the Red Jacket men were called 
 to the superintendent s office. They straggled up reluctantly 
 and stood around in little groups and squads, much like guilty 
 school boys waiting a turn at the gad. It was rumored 
 around during the afternoon that "the devil would pop" that 
 night. 
 
 The new super , came to the door and begun to talk. 
 Though he was a minnow, his was a deep base voice, slow 
 and deliberate. "There s no need of you boys taking the 
 trail for the Red Jacket tonight," said he, "as there won t 
 be anything doing there for some time, at least till the pay 
 streak is located. The mine is a loser, as all of you know. 
 This red dirt around the office could just as well be run 
 through the mill as the rock now being taken out. I ve been 
 put in charge by the management, and am going to try to 
 find the pay streak. I m sorry, but I ll have to turn off 
 every man except the engineer and fireman and the lower 
 level drill men. The others may come in and get their pay." 
 
 It was a sweeping order, and a stunning blow to the Red 
 Jacket men. When the first shock of it had passed, each 
 man stepped forward, as his name was called, received a little 
 pink slip, and walked out sullenly. 
 
 When all were gone, the little super turned to the desk, 
 lighted the dusty lamp, and scrawled off a brief telegram to 
 Colonel Fields, general manager, of the Gold Bug Mining 
 Company, New York: 
 
 "Have shut down mill. Fired whole crew, except engi 
 neer, fireman and four drill men." 
 
 Then he drew from his trunk a sheet of pale blue paper, 
 found a dainty envelope to match, and returning to the desk, 
 wrote : 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 121 
 
 "Miss Lottie Fields, 
 
 New York City. 
 
 "My Own Dear Lottie: 
 
 "Just arrived at the mine today. Have found things 
 at the Bed Jacket in very bad shape, and I ve a big task 
 before me to make a mine of it, but I m going to make a 
 hard try. Please pardon this very brief note, but having 
 just arrived, and with so very much to do, I can only drop 
 you a line tonight. With much love, and trusting I may 
 hear from you every day, I am, yours truly, LAYTON." 
 
 He mailed the letter at the camp postoffice, but as Placer 
 was the nearest telegraph station, the roustabout was called 
 and dispatched on the 20-mile ride to put the message on the 
 wire. 
 
 Next day Pelford made an expert examination of the 
 Eed Jacket, particularly of the long lower tunnel that had 
 been driven deep into the mountain from the inclined shaft, 
 and below the old workings from which all the pay ore of the 
 mine had come. The long tunnel followed blank rock its 
 whole length, and touched ore at no point throughout its 
 course. 
 
 This was peculiar. If the veins above were permanent, 
 the tunnel below should have struck them. "True fissures 
 don t pinch/ was one of the things he had learned in the 
 study of mineralogy. It was evident the veins of the Eed 
 Jacket were not true fissures, at least they did not hold to 
 the dip defined on the upper levels. 
 
 Pelford went above and exploited the old workings, 
 making a careful survey of the stopes. Then he discovered 
 the error, and learned why the Red Jacket s pay streak had 
 not been struck. 
 
 The new super was well pleased with his day s work, 
 and returned to the office in better spirits. The roustabout 
 brought in the mail, also two telegrams that had come by the 
 afternoon s stage from Placer. One was from Colonel Fields, 
 and read: 
 
 "Why in thunder did you close down? Stockholders 
 won t stand for it. Start it up at once." 
 
122 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 The other message was signed "Lottie," and inferred: 
 
 "Papa is very angry. May discharge you. Please be 
 careful." 
 
 Pelford leaned back in his chair and took a long breath. 
 His jubilant spirits suffered a rude shock. He got a little 
 relief by tearing the Colonel s message into bits and scatter 
 ing it over the office floor. 
 
 But the little super was not the sort of man to "tear a 
 passion to tatters," though he could do a telegram that way. 
 He sat for a long time, thinking seriously. He had been 
 put in charge of the Red Jacket mine, but the management, 
 like many companies with stock on the market, was trying 
 to tie his hands behind him, just to please the shareholders. 
 Pelford knew he was right in discharging the crew, and that 
 the only way the Red Jacket could be made to produce was 
 ,to find the lost pay streak. He knew he would bring down 
 the wrath of the colonel, he might even lose Lottie, or the 
 chance of winning her, but he was superintendent of the Red 
 Jacket^ and he must place his mine above everything, even 
 above Lottie, should it come to that. Yes, he concluded, he 
 would find that pay streak. 
 
 When he arrived by this conclusion, he seized a note 
 book and penciled the following message to the general 
 manager : 
 
 "No need grinding blank quartz. Nothing in it but 
 expense to company. Am looking for ledge." 
 
 A second was worded: 
 
 "Don t be alarmed. I will be careful." This was 
 scratched several times and cut down to 10 words, including, 
 "with much love," as it could not be sent collect, and would 
 cost $2 to New York. 
 
 Again the roustabout was called and dispatched through 
 the night to Placer. 
 
 Pelford outlined a plan with extreme care, and decided 
 to adhere to it religiously. He set the machine drills near 
 the middle of the long tunnel, and directly beneath the stopes 
 of the old workings. A crosscut was started each way. The 
 vantage point was selected after he had hand-picked each 
 wall nearly its whole length. 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 125 
 
 None but his workmen were allowed in the tunnel. 
 Even a "write-up" man, desiring to boost the Gold Bug 
 properties through his special edition, was turned away by 
 the firm little super. 
 
 The drills clattered day and night, driving the crosscuts 
 rapidly. 
 
 Between his hours on duty and those spent in his bunk, 
 Pelford was kept busy answering telegrams from the general 
 manager. The irate colonel called him an educated fool. 
 He had been sent out there to keep the mine running, not to 
 close it down. If orders were not more closely obeyed he 
 would have to be discharged. Lottie could no longer write 
 to him. The privilege of telegraphing remained his, but 
 love sent by wire, or received that way, collect, is an expen 
 sive luxury. 
 
 Two weeks passed and the drill penetrating the east wall 
 encountered the lost ledge. The first shot brought down a 
 mass of white quartz, glittering with virgin gold. Pelford 
 took the discovery with complete unconcern. The crosscut 
 was continued through the vein, and drift run following the 
 hanging wall. The tunnel had been driven parallel with, 
 and only a few feet from the ledge. 
 
 The time for making known the discovery to the manage 
 ment had not yet arrived. Pelford considered that there 
 were several matters that must needs be adjusted before the 
 colonel knew the truth. So he sent the brief message: 
 
 "Indications are good." 
 
 There was not much encouragement in this, and Colonel 
 Fields finally grew desperate. 
 
 One evening Pelford received a wire advising him that 
 the mill on the Red Jacket must be started at once. "Un 
 less I report that the stamps are pounding, the stockholders 
 will mob me," the message said. 
 
 Pelford calmly instructed : "Stand em off with a gun." 
 
 This was an unfortunate remark. It brought the imme 
 diate information that the colonel and an expert were coming 
 West to make an examination of the mine. 
 
 It would take them four days to arrive, but even at the 
 end of that time the discovery would not be in shape for 
 
126 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 critical inspection, so Pelford at once set to work to cover it 
 up. This was a game in which more than one could play. 
 So the drills were removed from the quartz of the east drift, 
 carried to the crosscut on the opposite side, and set to work 
 on the blank rock. The timbers were replaced, and the 
 entrance to the crosscut so admirably covered up that the 
 best expert could not have found it. The drill men won 
 dered, but asked no questions. 
 
 When the blustering general manager and the expert 
 arrived, Pelford courteously led them through each stope 
 and drift, tunnel and shaft from top to bottom of the Eed 
 Jacket, letting the expert arrive at his own conclusion as to 
 the location of the ore body. 
 
 At last he brought them to the crosscut on the east wall 
 of the tunnel, and within a few feet of the concealed entrance 
 to the ledge. The expert held aloft his candle, pecked, off 
 small bits of rock with his hand-pick, and looked sober. 
 "Strange, strange, indeed," said he. "If this ledge is a true 
 fissure, here is where the ore ought to be." 
 
 "But it s as blank as a brick," retorted the general man 
 ager in despair. 
 
 "It certainly is," the other replied. 
 
 The expert later went through the mine alone. That 
 night he reported to the colonel that the Red Jacket was 
 done. "She was nothing but a pocket vein," said he. "You ve 
 worked that out, and you may as well quit, sell the machinery, 
 or add it to the Gold Bug, and report to the stockholders." 
 
 The two drove off at an early hour next day. Pelford, 
 with his present force of men, was to remain on the Red 
 Jacket "till further orders." 
 
 The buckboard had no sooner disappeared down the can 
 yon, than all hands were at work clearing out the concealed 
 tunnel. The four drills were set on that side, and were soon 
 clattering wildly, as if to make good the lost time. 
 
 Just five days later, or in time to catch the general man 
 ager on his return home, Pelford wired: 
 
 "We ve found her. A horse threw her over, but she s 
 come in, rich as silk." 
 
 In the dim light of the dusty lamp the little super read 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 127 
 
 the reply the following night. It was merely a request to 
 send full particulars by mail. It was apparent that the 
 colonel doubted the discovery. 
 
 Pelford wrote two long letters. One was on pale blue 
 paper, the other on Gold Bug stationery. One was addressed 
 to Lottie, and was a rehearsal of the story he had told many 
 times before. The other was to the colonel, with a detailed 
 account of the strike as an introduction. Incidentally, it 
 was mentioned that the Bed Jacket was yet in its infancy, 
 and that 40, instead of 20 stamps should be at work. Fol 
 lowing this came the main body of the letter. It was not as 
 lengthy as the part preceding, but to Pelford it was far more 
 important. "I do not wish to appear arbitrary nor unreason 
 able," he concluded, "and you may wonder what this has to 
 do with the Red Jacket. Really, it has much to do with it, 
 much, at least, as long as I am identified with the mine. I 
 have found the lost pay streak, but to find it I was obliged to 
 pursue a policy entirely at variance with your wishes. In 
 using my own judgment in the matter, I have not only in 
 curred your wrath, but have been ordered to sever my atten 
 tions to Lottie. Possibly you do not know it, but I have been 
 in love with her for some time. I am just as determined to 
 win her, as I was to find the Red Jacket s pay streak. I beg 
 that the much-feared parental objection be removed." 
 
 The letters were mailed, and Pelford waited and worked. 
 Deeper and deeper the drills penetrated the treasure vault. 
 
 At the end of two weeks the order came: 
 
 "Collect crew and start up Red Jacket. All parental 
 objections are removed." 
 
 Thus it was the Red Jacket took a new and longer lease 
 of life. 
 
JOE KELLEY S 
 BURRO 
 
 ^^THE conversation around the big box stove in the Gold 
 i|L Bug bunk house drifted one evening from snakes to 
 lizzards, from lizzards to turtles, from turtles to grass 
 hoppers, from grasshoppers to chaparral, and from chaparral 
 to burros, which sequence psychologists would have pro 
 nounced a perfectly natural order all through. The Benedict 
 and Tony Bill, Slivers and The Spanish Fly took the lead on 
 matters pertaining to snakes, lizzards, turtles and grasshop 
 pers, but it remained for the Old-Timer to have the floor 
 when the burro was trotted into the ring. 
 
 "I think the miners of the West ought to get together 
 and pass resolutions thankin the burro for his time-honored 
 and faithful services in the gold fields, and then give im an 
 honorable discharge," the Old-Timer said. 
 
 "Yes, sir, the burro not only deserves to be retired, but 
 ought to have a big marble slab erected to his memory. The 
 honest little donkey that piked the trails and bore his load 
 uncomplainingly for the gold hunter, is hieing from view 
 over the Great Divide, with we old-timers following at his 
 heels. He has received his last pack, likewise his last cussin . 
 
 "But, after all, the burro was the most faithful friend 
 the prospector ever had. He was a pal who could be de 
 pended upon. He never got mad and tore up earth and 
 fumed and cussed because the beans were too salty or the 
 bacon not fried enough; he never wanted to divvy up rations 
 and call quits; he never got up in the night and ran away 
 with the last clean-up. No, sirree, the burro never com 
 plains. He would eat anything, from chaparral thorns to 
 buck brush, and was always on hand when stakes were pulled. 
 He stood by his pal when everyone else swore that pal was a 
 liar and a thief. He would follow that pal anywhere, up any 
 kind of trail, and would go anywhere his pal would go, ex- 
 
130 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 cept up a tree. He would have climbed a tree if lie had claws 
 instead of hoofs. 
 
 "You didn t know that one of the richest mines in Colo 
 rado owes its beginning to a burro, did you?" 
 
 None of the crowd assembled in the "parlor" were aware 
 of such an important circumstance, and the Old-Timer pro 
 ceeded. 
 
 "It may smell like salmon, but it s a fact, just the same. 
 The burro I m telling you about was the property of Joe 
 Kelly. The burro s name was Billy, and he was the toughest 
 little jackass that ever wore hair. Joe was tough and 
 weather-beaten enough, but Billy was more so. The diggers 
 down at Central camp used to bet on who would wear out 
 first Joe or Billy. The odds were about even. 
 
 "One spring Joe packed his outfit on Billy and hit the 
 trail for the mountains. It was early May, and on the higher 
 ranges a few splotches of snow still hung tardily here and 
 there, and the frost plant was just peepin its soft brown 
 cone through the fat earth for a glimpse of sunlight. 
 
 "When night came on the fourth day out, Joe halted 
 and struck camp. Well, here we are agi n, said the man to 
 the donkey, in the familiar way Joe had, for he said he had 
 learned that even a Mexican jackass liked to have a good man 
 talk to him, and that he would rather talk to a jackass than 
 a lot of men he knew. 
 
 "That night, after Joe had cooked and thrown his flap 
 jacks and bacon behind his belt, he spread his blankets and 
 sat down for a smoke. While sitting there, he fancied he 
 heard an unfamiliar noise from the canyon below. "Pears 
 to me there s something prowling around here/ Joe mused to 
 himself, and drew his long rifle across his lap. Maybe a 
 panther trying to scare up a late supper. 
 
 "By and by there was a crackling of dry twigs across the 
 trail. Billy lifted his long ears and snorted, peering into the 
 gloom. Just then the campfire blazed up bright, and Joe 
 saw two dusky men, crouching low, creep across the path, not 
 twenty yards away. Injuns ! he muttered aloud, and at the 
 same time cocking and raising his rifle. But he kept his 
 finger from the trigger, and shortly the sounds disappeared, 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 131 
 
 as did the dusky men who crossed the trail. They evidently 
 ascertained what they wished to know, and withdrew. Well, 
 so long as they won t bother us, we won t pester them; ain t 
 that right, Billy? The donkey assented with a shake of his 
 head. Joe smothered his fire and rolled up his blankets with 
 the long rifle under his head. 
 
 "After his coffee and bacon next morning, Joe shouldered 
 his pick and shovel and struck off up the creek. He found 
 moccasin tracks in the soft earth, but saw no Injuns. It was 
 in the afternoon, and while panning the dirt by the creek 
 that the first suspicious sound caught his ear. Joe dropped 
 his pan and made an investigation. The sounds were like 
 those of a man in pain, and they came from the shelf rock 
 above him. He cocked his rifle and drew himself to the crest 
 of the bank. Up there he came unexpectedly on a wounded 
 Injun. The redskin was lying at the foot of the canyon 
 wall. He was -twisting and squirming in agony, and groan 
 ing like a man who s just about gone. The red man s body 
 was streaked as much with blood as with paint. He had 
 slipped and dropped from the precipice. 
 
 "Joe brought water from the creek, and the Injun drank 
 with a dying thirst. Then he stretched him at ease on the 
 cool grass and cut splints to bind his broken leg. While he 
 was doing this three other Injuns came right out of the 
 forest, like shadows, and stood off watching Joe. Then they 
 drew closer and brought Joe to a sudden understanding with 
 a loud: 
 
 " How! 
 
 Joe turned quickly and reached for his rifle. Why in 
 thunder didn t you tap the knocker?" he said. You scared 
 me into the middle o next summer, sneaking in like a lot o 
 bobcats. 
 
 " Tillicums, tillicums, hyas tillicums ! cried the red men 
 in chorus, as they came forward with lowered rifles. The 
 injured one told his story, and the dusky features of the 
 three listeners lighted with smiles. Joe never knew till then 
 that an Injun, could smile. One of them spoke a sort of 
 English, and from him the prospector learned they were a 
 part of a wandering tribe under Chief Tyhee. Their camp 
 
132 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 was a half sun s journey away. They did not know how they 
 would get the wounded brave to his wigwam. Could the pale 
 face, who was wise in many things, tell them? 
 
 "Joe went back to his shovel and said he would lend 
 them Billy. So he told them where the donkey could be 
 found, and the three smiled yet more broadly. Billy was 
 brought and the wounded redskin placed aboard. The burro 
 struck off up the creek with his lead, one Injun leading him, 
 the other two holding the wounded brave astride. 
 
 "Joe went back to his shovel and pan. Late in the after 
 noon two of the Injuns he had met earlier in the day, together 
 with a third strange one, appeared at Joe s camp. The third 
 was old Chief Tyhee himself, and he was riding Billy. 
 
 " Mamma-looch, mamma-looch ! the chief exclaimed, 
 when he drew near. 
 
 " Hello, there/ Joe replied. 
 
 " Big chief like paleface friend/ said Tyhee, assuming 
 an attitude of supreme dignity. 
 
 " I m mighty glad to hear it/ Joe assured, modestly. 
 
 " Big chief like small pony. Want to buy em. How 
 sell? 
 
 "Joe was not in a trading mood. He couldn t part with 
 Billy, not for all the chief s kingdom, and he told him so. 
 Tyhee grunted his displeasure. He was unused to being re 
 fused anything he set his heart upon. 
 
 " Big chief like cuiton/ continued Tyhee ; will give 
 paleface good price. Will give paleface many squaws. The 
 brave held three fingers aloft. It was a tempting offer, but 
 Joe believed he would prefer the donkey to a wigwam full of 
 squaws. 
 
 "The chief was silent for a while. Then he played his 
 trump card. Gold ! said he, will give paleface much gold. 
 
 "The magic word touched the weak spot in Joe s heart. 
 He at once took an interest in the proposed trade. Gold? 
 he asked, how much ? 
 
 " Heap. Must dig. 
 
 " Let s see em. 
 
 " Will paleface take em? The old chief was too 
 shrewd to show the treasure before the deal was closed. 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 135 
 
 " Will take em/ Joe answered. 
 
 "Tyhee led off on the burro, beckoning Joe to follow. 
 Two miles up the canyon he halted in the shadow of a rocky 
 ledge near the brink of the creek. Here the three Injuns 
 moved a pile of stones heaped at the foot of the canyon wall, 
 revealing the treasure. 
 
 " Much gold, dig, commanded Tyhee. 
 
 "Joe broke off a fragment of the quartz and examined it 
 carefully. It was nearly half gold. The vein was the richest 
 Joe had ever looked upon. 
 
 "The deal was closed. Tyhee and Billy disappeared. 
 Joe went wildly to work. Days and days he toiled, and plied 
 the yellow-streaked ore in a great heap by the glory hole. 
 Weeks passed, and with slack grub and the gold craze and 
 over-toil, the fever came and Joe became a sick man. Strange 
 shadows flitted across the trail when he went down to his 
 work. One day the Injuns came with Billy, and found Joe 
 rolling in delirium. They built a trench and built a fire of 
 live coals; on this they piled stones to heat, and on the stones 
 they laid leaves of the wild grape and cinnamon. Then they 
 rolled Joe in blankets and laid him on the steaming leaves, 
 and in two hours they had roasted the fever out of him. But 
 there were other things than fever that ailed Joe, things that 
 the red men s medicine could not reach. He needed rest and 
 better grub and soap and coffee. These the red men could 
 not give, and as Joe was too weak to walk, and the Injuns 
 could not go, they turned Billy lose and told him to hike to 
 Central camp. 
 
 "So it happened that one day, while a lot of we diggers 
 were lounging in the shade in front of Tom Mackey s pla ce, 
 Billy came into town, jaded, travel-worn and hungry, and 
 dragging his halter under his feet. He made for Joe s cabin 
 and halted near the door. An anxious crowd gathered round 
 the donkey, eager for some news from Joe. Billy was much 
 troubled. He stamped his feet impatiently, and trotted un 
 easily to and fro. He was telling the crowd about Joe. His 
 language was that of a Mexican burro, but it was not hard to 
 understand. 
 
 "The miners shook their heads in grave fear. Somethin 
 
136 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 is wrong, boys, said one. Joe s in trouble, otherwise Billy 
 would never leave him. We d better take the donkey and 
 back track/ 
 
 "And back track they did, with the untiring burro al 
 ways in the lead. On the afternoon of the third day they 
 found Joe ; not dead, but nearly so. He lay on a bed of pine 
 boughs, and in his delirium was running his hands into a sack 
 of dust, and sifting the yellow stuff through his fingers. Joe 
 was well on the road to Daffyville, but the diggers soon had 
 him safely on the right track. 
 
 "A month later Joe was well, and a rich man. The 
 Tyhee mine made him a fortune. And Billy ? Oh, he built 
 the donkey a swell stable, shod him all round in silver horse 
 shoes, and put a silver bell with a gold clapper on his neck." 
 

 
 
 FOR THE LOVE 
 OF SADIE 
 
 
 
 
 NO one seemed to know who they were or where they 
 came from, except Bob Daniels. 
 
 They were the only passengers on the stage that day,, 
 and, as indicated by the way bill, the two of them had made 
 the entire trip from Boulder. While Slivers threw the mail 
 bags down, one of the twain, a short, broadshouldered, deep- 
 chested fellow, who had miner written all over him, climbed 
 out and turned his gorilla-like face to the crowd that circled 
 the coach. Had it not been for the timid creature that fol 
 lowed him, the crowd would have then and there pronounced 
 him a bad proposition. 
 
 This timid creature was as unlike her companion as she 
 could possibly be. She was small and delicate, with a face 
 as white and lifeless as wax. She trembled as if in fear when 
 he took her by the hand and sit her on the ground. Then he 
 picked up the two bundles of luggage and, giving her a grunt 
 of command, led the way to the boarding house. 
 
 Later that evening the stranger appeared as the mine 
 office and applied for work. Though both shifts were already 
 full, Hudson, the super, put him on the list, giving him a 
 stope on the 600. When over a human machine like that 
 found its way into Gold Bug, it was always sure of a job. 
 
 Since he was a married man, the stranger was shown 
 certain favors, for married men were few and far between in 
 camp, and were more to be encouraged than discouraged. 
 Thus he was assigned for the day shift, and was given a cabin 
 up on the hillside, away from the main camp, where the 
 thunder of the stamp battery was less terrific, and out of the 
 range of the stray bullets and wild songs of the Dewdrop. 
 
 The hard work and tidy care of the big miner s wife 
 soon made the little cabin the neatest in camp. The Old 
 Woman gave them two extra cots from the boarding house, 
 
138 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 and Hudson donated a chair from the mine office. Palmer 
 had a table in the laboratory that he found but little use for. 
 and sent it along with the chair and the cots. 
 
 A week or more passed before the grizzled stranger met 
 Bob Daniels. Bob was night shift boss on the 500, and had 
 been in camp but little more than a month. He was also big 
 and rough and whiskered, but his heart was that of a child, 
 and his steel gray eyes sparkled with the merriment of youth. 
 He spent the bulk of his wages at the Dewdrop bar and over 
 the little green table in the card room, and had a turn at the 
 wheel now and then, but he always played square, and owed 
 no man a cent. He had heard considerable talk about the big- 
 human chimpanzee, who swung the hammer with the strength 
 of a Trojan, and who grunted his few words like a mad 
 Indian. But as he was on a different shift, Bob had not seen 
 him, and when the two met it was merely by chance. Bob 
 had remained in the mine to extract a stick of dynamite from 
 a missed hole, and did not come up till the night men were 
 going on. 
 
 Half way between the shaft house arid the sump tank, he 
 came upon a huge thing in the trail. Darkness had settled, 
 but Bob saw enough through the gloom to convince him that 
 it was the human gorilla he had heard the diggers talk so 
 much about. Instinctively, he dodged to one side and reached 
 for the place where he sometimes carried a gun. 
 
 But it was not the mere thing of being startled that put 
 Bob Daniels on his guard. The first glimpse, even in the 
 darkness, that he had of the big man s face, recalled a host of 
 bitter memories. He knew at once he was face to face with 
 one whom he had hoped he would never again meet. 
 
 It all came upon him in a flash th,e Tin Cup camp, the 
 Gold Dollar, and Sadie, and he cried the name aloud: 
 
 "Chris Dolan I" 
 
 The other man made no coherent reply. He only 
 grunted in surprise, and jumped, as if for shelter, behind a 
 clump of manzanita. 
 
 Daniels stood in the trail and looked upon the huge thing 
 that glowered from behind the bush. "I m sorry you ve come, 
 Chris." said he, "but I ll take it for granted that you did not 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 139 
 
 know I was here. Five years ago we quit, and agreed to take 
 different trails. I would have been the happiest man on earth 
 but for you. Sadie would have married me had it not been 
 for you. It was the lie you told that won her from me made 
 her believe I was a thief and a scoundrel, and not fit to asso 
 ciate with decent women. Well, I m no angel, but I believe 
 in fair play, and it Avas for her that I took the blame of that 
 Leadville mix-up, and stood trial. I ve served the sentence 
 that rightly belonged to you., that Sadie might not be un 
 happy, but I must confess that I don t love you any better 
 now than I did then. There ain t a camp in Colorado big 
 enough for the two of us. But I ve signed for another month, 
 and will stay it out. We must be a little more careful after 
 this, for next time we meet I might have my gun/ 7 
 
 I was a long speech much longer than Bob Daniels was 
 accustomed to make. Chris listened irf silence, and when Bob 
 stepped to one side, accepted the movement as a command and 
 shambled past him up the trail, pausing again when Bob 
 inquired: 
 
 "If you don t mind tellin me, Chris, how is Sadie?" 
 
 "Only tolerable/ Chris answered. "I learned the day 
 after we arrived that you were in camp, but it was then too 
 late to move. I told her you were here, and she wants to see 
 you/ 
 
 "I m sorry, but I can t I must not. It wouldn t do. 
 Don t forget, Chris, that between you and me there s no such 
 tiling as letting bygones be bygones. We traveled too rough 
 a road to forget." 
 
 When he had ceased talking Chris went on up the trail. 
 Bob entered the boarding house and ate the supper that was 
 waiting for him. 
 
 By practicing caution, the two men prevented further 
 accidental meetings on the trail. But their second meeting, 
 like the first, was by chance. One black night, and near the 
 middle of the shift, the water supply for the mortars run 
 suddenly low. Bob had finished his work on the 500 and 
 came up with the powder gang. As there was no one else 
 handy, the foreman sent him out on the ditch to ascertain 
 the trouble. He took a lantern, but without lighting it, struck 
 
140 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 off up the ditch, which wound around camp, hanging to the 
 steep hillside. 
 
 At one time, when he came round the shoulder of a 
 ridge, he believed he saw a light in the window of Chris 
 Dolan s cabin. It flickered only for an instant, and then went 
 out. Bob halted and held his eyes on that part of the canyon 
 where the light was seen, but it appeared no more, and he 
 moved on, though not without some wonderment. 
 
 The ditch was on a level with the cabin roof, and only a 
 few yards from the eaves. When he neared the house he 
 heard the gurgle and splash of wasting water, and knew that 
 the break in the ditch was just beyond the cabin. He took a 
 match from his jacket to light the lantern, but was arrested 
 in the act by the crunch of a pisk. It was evident that some 
 one was at work on the break. Without making a light, he 
 crept farther up. When near at hand he peered from behind 
 a chaparral. 
 
 The ditch, at this point of the hillside, was lifted out of 
 the denser darkness of the vale, and Bob was able to dis 
 tinguish rocks and trees and bushes at some distance. Thus 
 he easily saw a man at work on the break, and only a brief 
 glimpse was sufficient to convince him that the man was 
 Chris Dolan. Fully half the flow was escaping through the 
 break, and Chris was working desperately to stop it. It was 
 beyond Bob to arrive at the cause of the accident. There had 
 been a heavy fall of snow, but no thawing as yet, and the 
 ditch banks were firm. 
 
 Bob finally concluded that Chris had been tampering 
 with the ditch, and was fully convinced of this when he saw 
 him pause in his work to move a heavily filled canvas bag out 
 of the way of the escaping water. Bob was of the opinion 
 that Chris had attempted to bury the bag under the ditch, and 
 had loosened the bank. 
 
 Bob stood up and made his presence known, walking 
 slowly down the ditch with the lantern dangling against his 
 boot leg. Chris dropped his pick in surprise, and recoiled 
 several paces down the slope. 
 
 "What s the trouble ?" Bob asked, ignorantly. 
 
HH K 
 
 B s 
 
 o K 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 143 
 
 "Break in the ditch/ 7 Chris .replied. As he spoke he 
 discreetly dropped his coat over the canvas bag. 
 
 "We noticed the water was running low down at the 
 mill," Bob explained, "and supposed there was a break some 
 where. Simpson sent me up to find it. How did it occur ?" 
 
 "Don t know/ Chris answered, still working furiously : 
 " heard the water gurgling woke me up and I came out to 
 fix it." 
 
 In other days Chris never indulged in long sentences 
 except to lie, and Bob was confident his characteristics in 
 that regard were still unchanged. 
 
 Daniels lighted the lantern, and gave a hand to mending 
 the break. In a little while the repair was made, and the 
 escaping water turned into the ditch. No further word passed 
 between the two, and when they were done, Chris picked up 
 his coat, being careful to gather up the bag with it, and 
 started toward the cabin. 
 
 "Hold a minute/ said Bob, "let s see if we can figure 
 this thing out. I d like to know how it happened." 
 
 "I don t give a cuss how it happened," Chris replied, by 
 which Bob was to understand he desired to dismiss the sub 
 ject. 
 
 He started to move away again, when Bob said frankly: 
 "I might as well be plain with you, Chris, and tell you. I 
 know just how it happened. You ve been up to your old tricks 
 again. You ve lifted a sack, and were trying to cache it 
 under the bank here. Come, now, fess up, ain t I got it 
 about right?" 
 
 Dolan hung his head, and hugged the coat and he con 
 cealed the bag closer under his arm. He made no reply, and 
 Bob continued: 
 
 "No need of your trying to hide it. I m on. Drop that 
 stuff, and I ll see that it s taken care of." 
 
 "Curse my luck!" cried Dolan with an oath. Then he 
 settled to the ground and dropped his head to his knees. 
 "You re not going to squeal on me, Bob ?" he asked, piteously. 
 "Honest to God, I ve dragged this bag around with me for a 
 year, trying to get rid of it, not by spending it, for it s all 
 here, just as I found it. But it has been my hoodoo. This 
 
144 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 was my third attempt to hide it since I came to Gold Bug. 
 And now, if you take it, and it leaks out 
 
 He was interrupted by the opening of the cabin window. 
 A white face appeared in the dark hole, and a woman s voice 
 asked anxiously : 
 
 "What s the matter, Chris, why are you out there ?" 
 
 It was Dolan s wife. It was Sadie. Bob knew the voice 
 he had heard it many times before. But in those happy 
 days it did not seem so old and sad as now. 
 
 "Just a break in the ditch," said Chris. "It is fixed 
 now, and I ll be in soon." 
 
 The window closed, and the white face disappeared. 
 
 "Does she know you have this?" Chris had willingly 
 relieved himself of the bag, and Bob picked it up. 
 
 "My God no! The Gold Dollar mill haul was the last 
 scrape she knows of my being in. I ve been square since 
 then. This stuff was piled in to me by some of the gang, now 
 scattered. It s from the Boulder bank; been nearly a year 
 since it was lifted, but hounds are still out; but they don t 
 suspect me, and I m safe as long as the stuff s kept out of 
 sight. For God s sake, Bob, put it where nobody can find it." 
 
 "Leave that to me," Bob answered. "I m glad I came 
 upon you just when I did. It may save trouble; also, I m 
 glad to know you re straight. Had I known that, I would 
 not have been so harsh .the other night. But we ll keep the 
 same sweet distance between us, for as I said before, you and 
 me have several bygones that we can t shake." 
 
 Daniels gathered the bag under his coat and returned 
 to the mine, reaching the mill just as the night shift was 
 piling out of the shaft cage, six at a time. 
 
 A month later a lone horseman came up the stage road 
 and pulled rein on the summit of the ridge. It was an after 
 noon in April, and the rider tilted back his hat to whiff the 
 north wind, that came soft and warm down the canyons of the 
 Colorado mountains. The snow peaks of Baldy" and Preston 
 were pink lighted by the subtle touch of spring. The frost 
 plant peeped its delicate cone through the fat earth by the 
 edge of the melting snows. 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 145 
 
 The man hitched up his holster another notch, with a 
 mute suggestion of hunger,, for an aroma of boiled beef and 
 baked beans drifted up the canyon from Gold Bug boarding 
 house, a half mile below. 
 
 At a slight touch of the spurs the horse dashed down the 
 road, and in a moment stood panting before the mine office 
 door. The man dismounted, leaving the reins dangling from 
 the bits, and entering, found Hudson at the desk. 
 
 "I m Bliton, the sheriff, just down from Boulder," an 
 nounced the new arrival. He slipped his glove and extended 
 his hand. 
 
 "And Fm Hudson/ the super answered, with a cordial 
 grasp. "Whose trail are on?" 
 
 "To be honest, I must confess I don t know. It s a cold 
 trail at best, and mighty hard to follow. I m still working 
 on that Boulder bank hold-up, that happened over a year ago. 
 I got wind that one of the gang, carrying the sack, drifted in 
 here about a month ago. I want to know if you have a man 
 on your list by the name of Evans Bob Evans?" 
 
 "No such a name with us," the super declared. "I know 
 every man Jack of the crew, and am pretty certain we have 
 no Bob Evans. Dixon, over there, has the books, and you can 
 look them over if you wish." 
 
 "No need," the sheriff assured. "Your word is good 
 enough." 
 
 "We have a Bob Daniels," the bookkeeper informed, as 
 he glanced hurriedly over the time sheet. "He came here 
 about six weeks ago." 
 
 "But he s not the man Bliton wants," Hudson declared. 
 
 "Is he square- jawed, broad-shouldered, black-haired, 
 gray-eyed, medium 
 
 "Yes, but we have a dozen men that could answer to such 
 description," said Hudson. 
 
 "Where is this Bob Daniels now ?" 
 
 "Down on the 500. Usually sleeps during the day, but 
 we changed shifts two days ago. Want to see him ?" 
 
 "Not just yet; but I would like entrance to his room. 
 I ll search it" 
 
 "Boom?" Hudson snorted. "Do you think we re run- 
 
14(5 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 ning a summer hotel out here? His room is a lower shelf 
 down in the bunk house. Go search it if you like, but be 
 easy about it, as some of the night boys are still asleep, and 
 will crack your noggin if you wake them." 
 
 "They ll never know it," the sheriff assured. A moment 
 later he followed Hudson across the camp to the long low 
 building that served as sleeping quarters for the men. 
 
 They crossed the parlor on tip-toe, and passed down the 
 dark aisle between the rows of bunks, from many of which 
 the deep breathing and long drawn snores were heard even 
 above the distant roar of the mill. 
 
 Near the middle of the room the two halted, and Hudson 
 indicated a lower bunk. "That s Bob s apartment there," he 
 informed. "This is too much like stealing eggs from a hay 
 loft to suit me. I m going to quit you." Whereupon he 
 turned on his heel and left. 
 
 The sheriff searched first in the pile of straw that served 
 as mattress for the "bunk; then pulled the blankets and lifted 
 the pillow, but found nothing except two packages of smoking 
 tobacco and a box of cigarettes. Finally he got down on his 
 knees and reached exploring hands under the bunk, dragging 
 out two pairs of miner s boots and a badly worn slicker. Then 
 his hand came upon a canvas bag. It was heavy, and he 
 clinched his lingers hard around it to bring it out. The 
 officers eyes gleamed triumphantly when the bag was hauled 
 into the dim light of the bunk house. It weighed nearly 
 twenty pounds, and bore in big letters across one side, the 
 words: "Boulder National Bank." 
 
 Two minutes later the sheriff dropped the bag on Hud 
 son s desk. The super puffed hard at his pipe for a while, 
 then turned his black eyes to the window, and remarked: 
 
 "Well, I ll be damned !" 
 
 "Not such a cold trail after all," said the sheriff. "This 
 is a snap so far. The next thing is to get my man. Did you 
 say he is down in the mine ?" 
 
 "Yes, he s shift boss on the 500. I ll go down with you." 
 
 Hudson led the way to the shaft house, the two boarded 
 the cage, and were dropped to the wide station on the 500- 
 foot level. From a half dozen candlesticks, stuck in the 
 
THE GOLD BUG 8TORY BOOK. 149 
 
 station posts, well spent candles sputtered their yellow flames. 
 Ore cars rumbled and roared down the drifts, and machine 
 drills clattered from the stopes. 
 
 The two men groped their way down a long tunnel, and 
 climbed a ladder that led from an ore chute aloft. They 
 clambered into a broad stope, flickering with candles and alive 
 with the "Pink ! pink ! pink !" of the jacks on the drills. 
 
 "That s your man over there in the red flannel shirt/ 7 
 said Hudson. 
 
 The sheriff stooped and crossed the stope. When he 
 drew near, Bob caught the flash of his star, and understood. 
 
 The sheriff made as if to draw his gun, but the miner 
 raised his hand. "Spare your powder/ he said. "I m on, 
 and am with you. Just give the word and I ll lead or 
 follow." 
 
 "I guess you d better lead," said the sheriff, as he 
 dropped in behind, and followed him down the ladder and 
 through the dark tunnel to the station. 
 
 When they came to the surface they found the camp in 
 great commotion. The big brass gong at the office was clang 
 ing wildly. Blue and red-shirted miners, bare of head and 
 with unlaced boots, were piling in confusion from the bunk 
 house and cabins. From up the canyon came a roar and 
 crash as of a hurricane tearing the forest. The earth 
 trembled, and the mountain sides was shaking. 
 
 "It s a slide !" said the super. "There s a big snow slip 
 on Baldy." He ran back to the shaft house and called up 
 Simpson. "Simp ! Simp !" he yelled. "Get the men out 
 of the mine; there s a slide up here, and if the shaft is cov 
 ered, they will be buried like rats." 
 
 The big* super ran madly from the trail to the bunk 
 house, to rout out the remaining men, driving them all, like 
 frightened sheep, to the middle of the vale below. 
 
 The day shift poured out of the mine like rats, and 
 scattered for the open plateau. 
 
 Then came the slide, or a big part of it. Half of Baldy 
 broke from the apex, and slipping down, left a deep red scar 
 in its wake. At first it moved gently and easily, then jumped 
 and leaped. Pines broke and snapped and twisted like straws 
 
150 THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 
 
 under the avalanche of snow and earth ; the cabins and build 
 ings of the upper end of the camp crushed and crumbled and 
 rolled under the mass. The great mountain shook as if 
 afraid. 
 
 Half way across camp the slide halted. The mill still 
 thundered its battery, as if in defiance, and the "chug ! chug !" 
 of the compressor was heard above the rumble and crash of 
 destruction. 
 
 After the first slip had quieted, the crowd looked up 
 from the vale and beheld a little cabin, half torn from its 
 foundation, hanging at the base of the avalanche. 
 
 "It s Chris Dolan s cabin !" said one. 
 
 "Chris, Chris, where is he?" inquired the super, ex 
 citedly. 
 
 "And his wife," yelled the Old Woman of the boarding 
 house. "She s up there with him ! Listen, I hear her 
 screaming! They can t get out!" 
 
 A shudder passed through the crowd of rough-and-ready 
 men. Though accustomed to danger, this was an ordeal to 
 test the nerve of the bravest of them. The screams of the 
 woman continued to come from the cabin. It was certain 
 death to attempt to rescue her ; at least, the chances were one 
 in a "thousand. If the slide would hold only for a little 
 while. If it did not hold- 
 Suddenly a man rushed from the crowd and crossed tho 
 camp. He was clad in red flannel shirt, his arms and head 
 were bare, his sleeves rolled high. He ran nimbly up the 
 steep slope toward the cabin. It was Bob Daniels. They 
 vainly tried to stop him. They shouted for him to return, 
 but he paid no heed. Up, up, he climbed, into the very jaws 
 of death, with the gravel rattling and rolling about his feet, 
 and the snow slipping, slipping, gently, treacherously, while 
 the watchers below held their breath and waited. 
 
 He reached the cabin and climbed in. Shortly he came 
 out, carrying a woman in his arms. It was Chris Dolan s 
 wife. The crowd cheered lustily. He carried her down the 
 steep slope through the spongy snow and across the camp to 
 the open and safety. 
 
 When he had delivered his burden to the 01<J Woman, 
 
THE GOLD BUG STORY BOOK. 151 
 
 he rushed to the mill, seized an ax, and was up the hill again 
 toward the cabin. This time Hudson, the super, was with 
 him. 
 
 "Chris is in here I" Bob shouted, as he smashed the win 
 dow and crawled in. "He s pinned under Ms bunk." 
 
 Rapid blows of the ax followed, and in a little while the 
 huge body of the miner, limp and unconscious, was passed 
 out, and Hudson bore him down the hill. At that moment 
 the slip gave way and the cabin tilted over, catching Bob 
 under the door. Hudson halted as if to turn back. "Go on, 
 for God sake, run!" Bob shouted, as the cabin rolled over 
 and was caught under the avalanche. With a wild shriek 
 the slide let go, and hurled its millions of tons of snow and 
 earth upon the camp. Hudson and Chris were scooted and 
 buffeted by the van of the mass out across the slope, and 
 tossed and rolled over the mill to the edge of the plateau, 
 bruised and bleeding, but safe. 
 
 Hudson put two shifts at work on the slide, and the 
 sheriff remained and worked with them. They dug for ten 
 days, driving tunnels in the mass of earth, looking, search 
 ing, probing for Bob s body. At last they found it, and the 
 funeral was held at the camp cemetery, a half mile up the 
 canyon. The stamps were hung up that day, and both shifts 
 were there to stand around the grave with bared heads and 
 heavy hearts. A preacher came all the way from Boulder to 
 preach the funeral, and the miners sung "Nearer My God to 
 Thee," more pathetically than the dear old song was ever 
 sung. 
 
 Over the coffin Sadie mourned and wept, for now she 
 knew how wide and deep was the love of him who had met 
 death smilingly that Chris might be saved. 
 
 They heaped the mound with mountain daisies, and the 
 Boulder bank sent out a stone to mark Bob s last resting 
 place. At its base was the inscription : "Don t Be Hard 
 With Him, God, for He Was Square." 
 
THE END 
 
INDEX 
 
 Millie and the Thoroughbred 9-21 
 
 Because of Fannie 23-33 
 
 On and Off The Water Wagon 35-42 
 
 The Tin Horn of Gold Bug 43-51 
 
 When The Plunger Quit 53-64 
 
 The Gold Bug Kid 65-77 
 
 An 111 Wind 79-83 
 
 The "Dare Devil" 85-98 
 
 The Silver Candlestick 99-106 
 
 A Confusion of Goods , 107-115 
 
 When The Red Jacket Paid 117-127 
 
 Joe Kelley s Burro 129-13B 
 
 For The Love of Sadie. . . .137-151 
 
Subscription 
 
 inllars a f ear 
 
 Value two dollars an 
 issue to mine owners, 
 operators, managers, 
 superintendents, fore 
 men and prospectors. 
 
 anft jjoat 
 
 Snformatton 
 
 about mining and met 
 allurgical equipment. 
 
 Send for Sample Copy 
 
 1B31 
 
Are You Interested in Mining or 
 Mining Stocks? 
 
 if so, you cannot afford to 
 be without the 
 
 latly iitmng 
 
 Send today for sample 
 copies. <LOn noting our 
 news columns, stock quo 
 tations from every ex 
 change in the country 
 and taking into consid 
 eration the value of our 
 Information Department 
 (free to subscribers) and 
 the Mining, Milling and 
 Metallurgy Department, 
 believe that you will agree 
 with us that you should 
 be one of our family 
 of readers. 
 
 for 
 B0 Not Se lag 
 
 THE DAILY MINING RECORD 
 
 Denver, Colo. 
 
RETURN CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT 
 
 202 Main Library 
 
 LOAN PERIOD 1 
 HOME USE 
 
 2 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 6 
 
 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 
 
 1- month tens may fee renewed by calMng 647-3405 
 1-year loans may be recharged by bringing the books to the Circulation Desk 
 Renewals and recharges may toe made 4 days piior to due date 
 
 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
 JUN 231984: 
 
 is 
 
 
 V*U.n 
 
 
 
 &-T 7i 
 
 
 
 Rf J_ IVFP , 
 
 
 
 , 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 c. ..- t 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY 
 FORM NO. DD6 7 60m, 1/83 BERKELEY, CA 94720 
 
 s 
 
THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY