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Updated: July 9, 2025
Farnham is at the shaft-house no, he and another fellow have just started down the dump, walking this way. Now they have gone into the cedars, and are coming straight through. What's up, do you suppose negotiations?" "I 'm damned if I know," returned the old miner, staring blankly. "This whole thing kinder jiggers me. Maybe he thinks he kin skeer us out by a good brand o' talk.
Come on back inside, both of you, and I'll tell you my plan. No, there is no use trying to run him down to-night a hundred men couldn't do it. What's that, Moore? Go on to the shaft-house, and let Dan fix you up. No, we won't need any guard. That fellow will never come back here again to-night. Come on, boys."
His was the code of the West; his methods those of the desert and the mountains, the code and method of a fighting man. A dim trail, rock strewn, led to the spring, where it connected with an ore road extending down the valley to Haskell. Another trail across the spur shortened the distance to the La Rosita shaft-house. But Westcott chose to follow none of these, lest he run into some ambuscade.
Did they dry up too?" "Oh, those are just the cabins and bunk-houses that were built for the miners, ever so long ago when the mine was going. Fixed up into cottages now for summer boarders. Do you want to see the mine?" They went around behind the shaft-house and beyond the old saw-mill. "O my senses!" cried Edith, "is that the old gold mine, that monstrous great thing? Isn't it horrid?"
They suspected his connection with her, his knowledge of their purpose; they knew of his presence the night before at the shaft-house of Lacy's mine; they would "get" him, if they could, and by no such simple methods as they got her. If she could only have warned him; if he was only placed on guard before they were ready to act "if"
Amid the gathering gloom all animate life seemed to have sought rest, to have found covert. The last glimpse which the watchful guardians of the "Little Yankee" gained of the surroundings of the "Independence" revealed nothing to awaken immediate alarm. A few men idly came and went about the shaft-house and ore-dump, but otherwise the entire claim appeared deserted.
Beneath the flaring gleam of numerous gasoline torches, half a dozen men constantly passed and repassed between shaft-house and dump heap, casting weird shadows along the rough planking, and occasionally calling to each other, their gruff voices clear in the still night.
From where he lay he could see across the bare, rock-strewn hillside to the distant hut, outlined by the gleam of light within, and perceive the black silhouette of the shaft-house. The sound of clanking machinery reached his ears, but the voices of the men failed to carry so far.
What could have hap " She glanced up at the mine buildings perched above the roadway and smothered a little cry. Ford's eyes followed hers. All across the slab-built shaft-house and the lean-to ore sheds was stretched a huge canvas sign. Stuart Ford & John Grigsby, Props. The white-haired old man standing in the leading buckboard was trembling with righteous indignation.
While I slept, the transformation of the Little Clean-Up from a three-man prospect hole to a full-fledged mine had taken giant strides. Machinery and material were arriving in a procession of teams laboring up the gulch; a score of carpenters were raising the frame of the shaft-house; masons were setting the foundations for the engine and hoist.
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