Chapter 6

"What strata have you passed through?" asked he of Seth.

"I s'pose yer mean the sile, don't yer?" said Seth Allport.

The young engineer nodded an affirmative reply.

"Black mould--gravel--sand and clay--black sand by itself--and then quartz reef," replied Seth, laconically, repeating the words as if he were saying a lesson he had learnt from a book.

"And what have you got to now?" continued Ernest Wilton, pursuing his inquiry.

"Water," said Seth Allport in the same laconic way.

Ernest Wilton's face fell, albeit he had previously felt inclined to smile at the ex-mate's queer manner and abrupt speech.

Water! It was the cruellest, most persistent enemy with whom the miner has to deal. Foul air and gas can be got rid of, but water, proceeding from invisible springs, ever welling up, and the more the quantity pumped up the greater the yield from the inexhaustible fountains of the earth, was an opponent that could not be conquered, an enemy of the most potent powers for ill indeed--a very vampire that sucked the blood of energy.

Delving down, day after day, with superhuman exertions, through the various strata, they had met with no sight as yet of that rich vein of gold which they confidently hoped to encounter, although there were occasional traces of an auriferous deposit here and there to encourage them on, their hopes and hearts had never failed them until now. No wonder that Ernest Wilton's arrival was hailed as an omen of good luck; and that he was regarded by all as having arrived "just in the nick of time" to extricate them from their difficulty!

"How long is it since you met with water?" asked the young engineer, before he descended the shaft in order to inspect the works personally below.

Mr Rawlings answered this time, while Seth Allport and Noah Webster confirmed his statements by their looks, which were expressive enough!

"That is a question that none of us can reply to satisfactorily."

Ernest Wilton was surprised. He thought he had made one of the simplest inquiries possible; and he looked his astonishment at the answer given him before he said anything more. The idea of a practical man, as he regarded Mr Rawlings, speaking so!

"How is that?" said he, after a pause. "I should think you would have no trouble in telling me?"--and he looked from Mr Rawlings to Seth Allport with some curiosity.

"Some things that appear simple enough," said Mr Rawlings somewhat pragmatically, "are more difficult to answer, my clear fellow, than most people would think; and you ought to know that from your engineering experience!"

"Certainly," replied the other; "but here's a mine with men working in it from day to day, and digging through each separate stratum in turn, and knowing at the close of each day the result of that day's labour. Surely, one would think that the day on which they struck water they would not forget it?"

"Granted, my dear fellow," answered Mr Rawlings, who dearly loved a bit of argument when he could come across a foeman worthy of his steel. "I accede in toto to your premises; but your deduction is somewhat a little too rapid, for there are other circumstances to be considered which I have not yet brought to your notice, and which, I have no doubt, will alter your decision."

"By Jove!" said Ernest Wilton, with a laugh, "I must treat it as a conundrum, and give it up. I am certain that I cannot solve it."

"Stop a minute," said Mr Rawlings, "and you'll soon see how it is. During the winter we had a hard time of it to keep the roof of our house over our head, let alone preserving the mine in working order! The snow, the ice, the stormy gales, that seem to haunt the vicinity of the Rocky Mountains and their outlying ranges, each in turn assailed us: and then, on the melting of the snow at the first breath of approaching spring, the floods, which were the most virulent antagonists with whom we had to grapple, almost overwhelmed us! There was `water, water everywhere,' as Coleridge says in his `Ancient Mariner.' The whole valley, almost as far as you can see, was one vast foaming torrent, that bore down all our puny protections in the shape of ramparts and stockades. It nearly swept away our rough dwelling bodily; it did more, it demolished the dam we had erected across the gulch just there,"-- pointing to the spot as he spoke--"and wrecked the heading of the shaft, filling the mine as a matter of course."

"And up to then, in spite of all your digging, you had met with no water?" asked Ernest Wilton. "Was that so?"

"Not a drop, which I very much wondered at, considering that we are almost in the centre of the tributaries of the Cheyenne and Missouri-- any number of tiny streams rising amongst these hills, and gaining additional body as they proceed onward to join the greater rivers from fresh sources that cross their course at different angles."

"And after the floods?"

"Why, we set to work like men, I can tell you:--Seth, there, will bear me out."

"We did so, sirree," said that worthy, with a most emphatic nod.

"Yes," continued Mr Rawlings, "we first renovated the dam, and dug out a channel for the overplus of water on either side of the shaft; and then we started pumping out the mine."

"An' it were a job!" said Seth, taking up the thread of the story. "I've been in a vessel as sprung a leak, and where the hands were pumping day and night, with nary a spell off, so as to kip a plank atween us and the bottom of Davy Jones's looker; but, never, in all my born days, have I seed sich pumpin' as went on in that thaar week!"

"As Seth says," resumed Mr Rawlings, "we were like mariners pumping at the hold of a water-logged ship, as if for life. We pumped, and pumped, and pumped; but, in spite of all our efforts, only succeeded in just keeping the enemy in check, that's all."

"Can't get the mine dry, eh?"

"No, not for any length of time. What we gain in the day, we lose again at night. In concise terms, I may put it, that by keeping the hose constantly at work, which of course interrupts the progress of excavation, we barely manage to hold our own, neither gaining nor losing an inch."

"That's a bad lookout!" said Ernest Wilton, shaking his head.

It was. It meant ruin to all their hopes and expectations; the inglorious end of the expedition; the sacrifice of all their toil and perseverance throughout those terribly arduous winter months; their waste of energy in struggling with the powers of nature. It meant all that, and more!

Such a state of things would never do to last.

Difficulties were only made for men to overcome, according to the maxim which had hitherto guided Mr Rawlings and Seth Allport, and which they had preached to the more faint-hearted members of their party; and, Ernest Wilton was a thorough disciple of their creed, for he was not one to be daunted by obstacles, no matter how grievous and apparently insurmountable they were;--no, not he.

The young engineer went down the mine to look for himself, and to form his own opinion as to what was best to be done in the emergency.

He went down looking grave enough, but he returned with a more hopeful expression on his face, which at once cheered up the somewhat despondent spirits of those awaiting him above--for he preferred descending alone.

"Well?" inquired Mr Rawlings, interrogatively.

"It might be worse," said the young engineer smiling.

"That sounds good," said Seth Allport, his countenance, which had previously been grimmer than ever, beaming over its whole expanse, as if the sun was trying to shine through overhanging clouds and fog. Seth's phiz was as expressive as a barometer any clay.

"I think I see a way out of the difficulty," said Ernest Wilton to ease their anxiety, which he could readily sympathise with after what he had seen.

"I am sure you would not say so unless you had some hopes of its success," said Mr Rawlings, whom the good news seemed to affect more than all the previous trials had done, for he looked quite pale, and almost trembled with eagerness as he questioned the bearer of the welcome tidings.

"No," said Ernest Wilton joyously, for he was very glad to be able to communicate the intelligence to those who had succoured him in his own distress, and now appealed to him for assistance. "There's a chance for the mine yet; and you need not despair of having spent your toil in vain."

"Bully for you!" exclaimed Seth Allport. "Didn't I say now--ask anybody present if I didn't anyhow--that you'd brought us good luck?"

"I rejoice to hear you say so," said Mr Rawlings, a little more calmly, although his whole fortune had been at stake, as it were; for if the mine had turned out a failure he would have been ruined, and had to begin the world over again. "It would have been hard that all our labour should have gone for nothing."

"Well, my dear sir," said Ernest Wilton cheerfully, "you need not complain now. It is not a case with you of `Love's labour lost,' as in Shakespeare's play of that title."

STORY ONE, CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

COUNTERMINING.

"What do you think of doing?" asked Mr Rawlings, drawing a long breath of relief on hearing Ernest Wilton's cheering words. "We have tried almost everything to stop the flow of water and failed--Seth and I; and although you appear so sanguine, I hardly see what can be done, myself." And he sighed again, as if he were returning to his previous state of despondency.

"Did you ever hear the old Irish saying that `there's more ways of killing a pig besides hanging him?'" asked Ernest Wilton, instead of answering the other's question at once.

"Yes," laughingly replied Mr Rawlings.

"Then," said the young engineer, "I am going to carry that precept into practice regarding your mine."

"How?"

"You have tried pumping without avail, have you not?" said Ernest Wilton.

"That's a fact," said Seth Allport, with the full power of his down-east nasal intonation. "Yer couldn't hit nearer the mark than thaat, I guess, sirree."

"And you could never get the water lower than fifty feet off the bottom of the shaft?" pursued the young engineer, stating his case, "could you?"

"No, not a foot lower," said Mr Rawlings.

"Then what think you of a countermine?"

"I don't quite understand you," said Mr Rawlings.

"Don't you?" said Ernest Wilton, smiling, "and yet it is easy enough to answer, as you told me just now, when I wondered how you did not know when the water came into the shaft."

"Pray explain," replied Mr Rawlings. "I didn't keep you in suspense, you know, when you confessed your inability to answer the question."

"No," said the other, "and I'll treat you as fairly now. You see, at present there is only an intervening wall, of about one hundred yards in gross thickness, dividing the shaft from the channel of the gulch outside. The upper part of the stratum is mere gravel, for as you found, in winter the river extends beyond the point where you are sinking. Judging by the eye, I should say that the mouth of the shaft is twenty feet above the level of the water in the river. So far you would naturally find no water. When you began work the water in the river must have been ten feet at least lower than it is at present, consequently it was no higher than the solid rock where you began to work down in the quartz. So long as the river was below that level you naturally would meet with no water whatever, however deep you might sink, but directly it rose so that it was higher than the level of the rock, it would penetrate through the gravel like a sieve, and will fill your shaft as fast as you can pump it out. Gradually the river will sink as the dry season comes on, and in the autumn will be again below the level of the rock. You can't wait for that, and must therefore carry your shaft from the top of the bed rock to the level of the water in the stream, say twelve-feet in all, but of course we will get the levels accurately."

"That sounds right," Seth nodded approvingly. "What's go ter be done?"

"The job is by no means a difficult one," Ernest Wilton answered. "In the first place, we must widen the shaft by a foot down to the level of the rock, that will give six inches all round. Then we must square off and level the top of the rock, which will then be a level shaft six inches wide all round. While you are doing this we must make a drum ready. That is easily made. We must make four circular frameworks, fasten twelve-feet planks, carefully fitted together, and pitched outside them so as to make it perfectly water-tight. We ought to have a layer of hydraulic lime or cement laid on the rock for the drum to rest on; but if we have not got them, some well-puddled clay will do as well. Then when the drum is in position in the shaft of rock, its upper end will be higher than the level of the water in the river, and if the rock is compact and free from fissures we shall be perfectly dry however deep we may sink. How are you off for strong planks? They must be strong to resist the pressure of the water and gravel."

"I fear that we have no planks of that thickness whatever," Mr Rawlings said. "We only brought enough timber for the scaffolding over the mine, and a little for framework if it wanted lining. You see, we did line it down to the rock. I think we have one balk of nine-inch timber left."

"Let us measure it and see how many two-inch planks it will make."

It was thirty-two feet long. Eight feet was therefore useless for planks, but would come in for the framework. Twenty-four feet would make eight planks of a little over two inches thick, nine inches wide, and twelve-feet long.

"This is less than a fifth of what we require," Ernest Wilton said. "The shaft is eight feet in diameter, so we shall need some thirty-two nine-inch planks. However, there are trees about, not very large and not very high, but big enough to get one or two nine-inch planks twelve-feet long from each. The first thing to do is to get a supply of them."

"And you feel quite sure that by lining this portion of the mine with a drum, as you describe, we shall get over our difficulty with the water?" Mr Rawlings said.

"Quite sure," Ernest Wilton replied; "providing always that the rock is solid."

"Then it's as good as done," Seth said emphatically. "You have put us on the right track, Wilton, and we'll carry it through. I never thought about the river, and kept on wondering why that darned gravel kept letting the water through when it was as dry as bones when we drove through it."

While the preparations were being made and parties scouring the country for timber the young engineer bent his mind to the task of inventing some better mode of getting rid of the water than by manual labour--the mine being sadly deficient in a lot of necessary gear, besides steam-power, as Ernest Wilton had quickly perceived, although he had refrained from commenting on the fact.

"You see," said Mr Rawlings, in apology, "I undertook too big an enterprise with the little capital I had: and, consequently, have been unable to work it properly. Indeed," he continued confidentially, "if we don't hit upon a good lead soon I shall have to give up, for my funds now will hardly suffice to pay the hands what I promised them; and if we continue working, I should have to get more stores and planks, and lots of things, which I certainly cannot afford unless we strike visible gold."

"I have a few hundred dollars of my own--" began Ernest; but Mr Rawlings stopped him at once.

"No, no, my dear fellow," said he impulsively, "your natural kindness of heart shall not lead you into throwing away your hard-earned money on my venture. I shall sink or swim on my own bottom, as the saying goes, although I thank you sincerely all the same. But about the mine," he continued, veering away from the delicate subject, "I'm sorry we haven't got a steam-engine; but that was all Seth's fault. He would believe that a mine could be pumped out as easily as a vessel's bilge."

"That's me," said Seth, not a whit annoyed at the imputation. "I hate them donkey enjines. They mostly chokes the pumps, and I'd liefer any day have hand gear an' a decent crew to clear ship with."

"Well, whether you like it better or not," said Ernest Wilton, with good humour and good sense combined, "you haven't one, and we'll have to make the best of a bad bargain."

"That's so!" said Seth, with much satisfaction apparently.

"And that being the case," continued the young engineer, "we'll teach our enemy to beat itself, or in other words, make water fight water."

"Jerusalem!" exclaimed Seth admiringly. "How on airth will you get to do that, mister?"

"Look before you," said Ernest Wilton, pointing to the foaming stream that was dashing along the valley. "Look at the waste of energy there! Why, with a good undershot wheel that water-power is worth more than a hundred additional hands at the pumps."

If Seth had looked at the speaker admiringly before, no words could express his pleased astonishment now. He seemed to glow all over with gratification.

"I'm jiggered!" he ejaculated, gazing at Ernest Wilton from the tip of his boots to the top of his head. "You air a screamer, an' no mistake!"

Even Mr Rawlings, generally so sedate of demeanour, in contrast to Seth Allport, who usually went into extremes, became enthusiastic.

"My dear boy," said he, grasping both of Ernest's hands and shaking them with much heartiness, "you'll be the making of us all."

"I shall try to be," said the young engineer; "for I certainly don't intend to be content with merely clearing the mine of water. You don't know half the value of your property yet; why, that quartz there," waving his hand towards a heap of the debris that had been extracted from the shaft and cast aside as waste, "if passed through a crushing mill would yield a handsome premium."

"I know," said Mr Rawlings sadly. "But I couldn't afford the machinery."

"We'll soon manufacture it, with a little help from the nearest town, where we can get some of the articles we can't make," said Ernest Wilton sanguinely; "we've got the power to drive the machinery, and that's the main thing, my dear sir. We'll soon manage the rest."

"I'm sure I hope so," replied Mr Rawlings; but he had received such a chock from the mine already, on account of its turning out so differently to his expectations, that he could not feel sanguine all at once, like the young engineer who had not experienced those weary months of waiting and hope deferred, as he had.

Not so Seth, however. His tone of mind was very opposite to that of Mr Rawlings.

The ex-mate was as confident of their success now as when they had started from Boston, before he or the rest knew the perils and arduous toil they would have to undergo. All those trials vanished as if by magic from his memory, as quickly as the winter snow was now melting away from the landscape around them, and he thought he could see the golden future right in front of his mental gaze, all obstacles being cleared away in a moment by Ernest Wilton's hopeful words.

"Hooray, Rawlings!" he exclaimed excitedly, twirling his "cheese-cutter" cap round his head, and executing a sort of hop, skip, and jump of delight. "The Britisher's the boy for us! I guess we'll strike ile now, and no flies, you bet, sirree!"

STORY ONE, CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A HAPPY HUNTING-GROUND.

Within a few days after Ernest Wilton had joined the miners of Minturne Creek, the winter seemed to vanish away at once, the "chinook wind" coming with its warm breath from the Pacific through the gaps and passes of the Rocky Mountains far-away to the west, and dissolving the last remaining evidences of Jack Frost's handiwork.

The region of the Black Hills, as the young engineer had now the opportunity of observing, as the mountains and valleys shook off their snowy mantle and became clothed anew in the fresh green verdure of spring, is one of the most picturesque in the States, partaking alike of the lofty grandeur and rough magnificence of the sierras of the north, and the spreading landscape features to be met with in the middle of the continent adjacent to the watersheds of the Missouri and Mississippi, where the open country extends like a panorama on either side for miles.

The Black Hills proper partly lie in Dakota, occupying the south-west extremity of that state, and partly in Wyoming, and are almost encircled by the Cheyenne river, the principal fork of that stream extending in a curve right round the northern limit of the region, to where it joins the lesser tributary, which similarly skirts the southern side of the hills. On the north-east, the two branches then unite in one large river, styled by way of contrast "The Big Cheyenne," which ultimately falls into the vast rolling tide of the Missouri, some hundred miles further on due east, at a place called Fort Bennett.

The branches of the Cheyenne are not the only streams of the region, for many others, some of considerable dimensions and volume, and others mere tiny brooklets, wander in every direction through the country. The Black Hills are divided from the adjacent prairie by a series of valleys some two to three miles across; while, away back from the more elevated points, the land rolls off into a series of undulating plains, covered with grasses of every hue, and timbered along the banks of the rivers that transect them with the useful cottonwood tree, the ash and the pine, mingled with occasional thickets of willow and the wild cherry, and briars and brushwood of every description.

The operation of timbering the shaft making satisfactory progress, and Ernest Wilton's water-wheel, that was to do such wonders, having been "got well under weigh," as Seth expressed it, the chief members of the party determined to have an "outing" into the open land lying beyond their own especial valley, in search of game; for the cry for fresh meat had again arisen in the camp and urged them on to fresh exertions to supply the larder, quite apart from their own inclinations to have another day off the dreary work of the mine, which seemed to fall most upon Mr Rawlings and Seth, as it was at their mutual suggestion that they went a "hunting,"--as a shooting expedition is termed in the New World.

Having so determined, they carried their determination into effect, and started.

"I should think you had plenty of game here?" said Ernest Wilton, when they had left Minturne Creek some distance behind them, and entered upon an extensive prairie, that stretched before them, in waves of grass as far as the eye could reach, to the horizon.

"I should think so," said Mr Rawlings. "Why, it swarms with it."

"What sort?" asked the other. "Any deer?"

"Every variety you can almost mention. Deer, elk, moose--although these are to be found more to the northwards--antelope, mountain-sheep--as you know already--grizzly bears--if you relish such customers--and buffalo as soon as the sweet summer grasses crop up here, and the pasturage to the south loses its flavour for them."

"That's a pretty good catalogue," said Ernest, who was a keen sportsman. "Any birds?"

"The most uncommon slap-up flying game, I guess, in creation," said Seth, "if yer cares to tackle with sich like; though I prefers runnin' game, I does."

"Seth is right," said Mr Rawlings; "you will have a varied choice there likewise: grouse, partridge, prairie-fowl, wild geese, ducks--these two, however, are more to be met with in the winter months, and will be off to the Arctic regions soon--all sorts, in fact. And as to fishing, the salmon and trout--the latter of which you'll find in every stream in the neighbourhood--beat those of England."

"Well," said Ernest, laughing, "if your report be true, as I see no reason to doubt, you must have discovered those happy hunting-grounds to which all good Indians go when they die."