Part 12 (1/2)
Reynolds asked.
”Did I say I was willin'?”
”That is what I inferred from your words.”
”I merely asked ye 'twixt which would ye choose: the findin' that gal, which is an unsartin proposition, or gittin' the gold, which is as sure as the sun. That's all I asked.”
”But if I choose the gold, then your secret will be known, and there will be a wild stampede into the place. You don't want that to happen, do you? It would be the same story of other camps, and perhaps worse.”
”No, I don't want it to happen, that's a fact. But, ye see, it's bound to come sooner or later. Thar are so many men pokin' thar noses into every hole an' corner, that they are sure to find my mine before long.
Now, I want someone to my likin' to be first on the ground, an' that someone is you. Ye kin then make yer choice an' stake two claims as discoverer. Tharfore, which will ye choose, that gal proposition or the gold? It's up to you. Is it hard to decide?”
”Not at all,” was the reply. ”I shall take the girl. One might run across gold any time, but a girl like that one won't find again. And, besides, what good would the gold be to me without her? I, therefore, take the girl proposition.”
Samson looked at his companion in surprise, as if he had not heard aright. Here was a phase of character beyond the bounds of his experience.
”An' ye don't want the gold?” he asked.
”Certainly I want the gold, who wouldn't? But you told me I had to choose it or the girl, didn't you?”
”I surely did, though I never imagined ye'd throw down the gold. Now, all the fellers I ever met up here would have taken the gold first.”
”Feeling sure of getting the girl later; is that it?”
”That's about the gist of it. They'd tackle what's sartin first, but you're willin' to try the unsartin.”
”I am, and when can we start?”
”In the morning if it's all the same to you. We'll need some extry grub, which we kin git from Shorty. We won't want much, as we'll find plenty of meat along the way. We'll hit out before the camp's astir, so n.o.body'll know what's become of us.”
”How long will it take us to cross the Golden Crest?” Reynolds asked.
”That depends upon many things. We might do it in three or four days by the way we're goin', or, again, it might take six months, an' mebbe longer. In fact, we might never git thar at all.”
”I planned to do it in a couple of days,” Reynolds declared.
”I s'pose ye did. But things don't allus turn out as ye plan, 'specially if ye undertake to cross the Golden Crest. Ye see, things happen thar quick as lightnin' sometimes, an' if yer lucky enough to git off alive, the patchin'-up process might take a long time. See?”
”I see,” Reynolds replied, as he took the sketch from the improvised easel, ”I have a number of patches on my body already, so a few more won't make much difference.”
CHAPTER IX
THE OUTER TRAIL
A profound silence lay over Big Draw mining camp as Frontier Samson and Tom Reynolds slipped quietly away among the hills. The sun had not yet lifted itself above the horizon, but the speediness of its coming was heralded in the eastern sky, and the tallest mountain peaks had already caught the first shafts of its virgin glory. The valleys were still robed in semi-darkness, and the two wayfarers seemed like mere spectres as they sped forward.
”My, this is great!” Reynolds exclaimed as he at length stopped to readjust his pack. ”I believe I should live to be a hundred or over if I could breathe air like this all the time. It's a fine tonic.”
”It sure is,” Samson agreed, as he laid aside his rifle and pulled out his pipe. ”Not much like the smell of yer city streets, whar ye swaller hundreds of disease germs every second.”
”Have you ever lived there?” Reynolds asked, curious to learn something of the old man's history.