CHAPTER VII. GOLD!

“I b’lieve I’ll dig out of these parts,” said Black Tom, with a sigh, after he had heard the explanation of Fred Hammond.

“Why so?” quietly asked the latter.

“Things don’t look right to me; I don’t understand ’bout that speckled critter, nor ’bout the critter I’ve seen on the kenyon on horseback. I b’lieve _she’s_ a sperit.”

“No; she’s as much flesh and blood as you are. I have spoken to her.”

“Have you axed her to dig out of these parts?”

“I have, more than once.”

“Why don’t she do it?”

“We’ll let the answer to that question remain in abeyance for the present,” was the graceful response of Hammond. “I think she will do so, but the time has not yet come for such an important step to be taken.”

“Let me ax you something else, then. Do them Blackfeet where she’s stayin’ _b’long thar_?”

“They have lived there a long time, and no doubt expect to remain there for a long time to come, but they do not belong to the Blackfeet tribe.”

“What tribe, then?”

“They are the Meagans.”

“I’ve heard tell of them, years ago, but I thought they war all dead.”

“They were once a powerful tribe, and these are all that are left of them, scarcely a hundred souls. You know they are _Christians_.”

Black Tom did not know that, nor did he know any thing of them, except that such a tribe had once been a power in the West, but he had supposed hitherto that they had vanished from the earth long since.

“They have been Christianized through the efforts of the good Moravian missionaries,” continued Hammond, “and they live a quiet, unobtrusive life among themselves, disturbing nobody, and desirous of being left alone by all who pass through this region.”

“What is the gal doing with them?”

“Suppose we drop all reference to her for the present,” was the pleasant reply of his companion; “you are here for the purpose of hunting gold, and I must warn you not to interfere with the Meagans.”

“We won’t hurt them if they let us alone,” was the sturdy reply of the trapper, “but they must keep thar hands off.”

“They won’t be likely to disturb you, although they do not like the presence of any one in these parts.”

“Why don’t they?”

“Because they are aware of the existence of gold, and they know if that fact becomes generally known, they will have to pack up and leave.”

“Be thar any other white men besides us hyar?”

“Quite a number have passed through, but I don’t think there are any besides your company.”

“The Blackfeet are here sometimes?”

“Yes; their hunting and war parties occasionally pass through, but they know of the Meagans, respect their character, and never offer to molest them.”

“I see; but how ’bout us?” asked Black Tom, with a grin.

“It ain’t likely they would be so careful about treading on your corns. Heigho!”

This exclamation on the part of Hammond was caused by the growing light around them showing that day was breaking. The trapper was startled somewhat, but he was deeply interested in his new acquaintance, and continued chatting some time longer. As he was ready to move away, Tom said:

“See hyar, Hammond, our mansion is down near t’other end the kenyon, and--”

“I know very well where it is,” interrupted the young man, bowing slightly and smiling.

“Wal, what I war goin’ to hit at war this: come thar and make your head-quarters with us. We’re huntin’ gold and you are huntin’ the gal; but we’ve got to do a little sleepin’ now and then, and why can’t you bunk with us?”

“I thank you, Tom; I may accept your invitation, but not just at present. However, we will keep up the acquaintance so pleasantly commenced, and I will call on you now and then.”

This was their parting, and making their way out of the bushes, Black Tom continued on down the cañon, reaching his friends, when both were quite anxious regarding him.

After telling his story, there was a consultation. All were quite hungry, and it was agreed that old Stebbins should start off on a quest for food, and Teddy should keep guard during his absence, which time Black Tom proposed to devote to sleep.

This arrangement was carried out to the letter. Tom secured two good hours’ rest, which were all that he needed, Teddy acted faithfully his part as sentinel, and old Stebbins came back with the hind-quarters of a young antelope slung over his shoulder.

Some was broiled over the fire, and the three hunters devoured it with an appetite that was absolutely wolfish, scarcely speaking until it was finished, when Tom asked, somewhat bluntly:

“Did you see nothin’ of the speckled and ring-tailed critter?”

“Nothin’, but I see’d sign.”

“Blazes! whar?”

“Off yonder.”

As he replied he pointed off to the left, which was in a totally different direction from the one leading toward the Meagan village, proof that they were hostile Indians.

“Thar’s ’bout a dozen,” added old Stebbins. “They’re Blackfeet in thar war-paint, and they’re goin’ fur somebody.”

“Bad ’cess to ’em!” exclaimed Teddy, who had managed to light his pipe. “Give us the chance and we’ll show ’em a thing or two.”

The matter was discussed pro and con, when it was agreed that the three should separate and take different directions. Each of the three were to search for gold and Indians. By this means there was a better prospect of finding the precious metal than if they went in company, and if danger from the Blackfeet threatened, there was scarcely a possibility that it would escape the vigilance of all three.

Old Stebbins took somewhat the same route that he followed in his morning hunt, his principal purpose being to look out for Blackfeet. Teddy went up the brook, his object being gold, while Black Tom, after getting clear of the cañon, diverged to the right, his purpose being both.

Leaving the two former to themselves for the present, it becomes necessary once more to follow the adventures of Black Tom.

His course led him across a short space of open prairie, when he entered a wild section, better fitted for the habitations of the chamois or mountain goat, than for any other animal.

He was constantly passing around deep chasms, climbing rocks, clambering through bushes, sometimes leaving the debris and loose stones rattling behind him, with a noise that was startling, until he found himself in a small, narrow valley, through which ran a stream somewhat larger than the one in the cañon that he had left a short time before.

The trapper carefully surveyed the bluffs and elevated points surrounding him, but all was as quiet as at “creation’s morn.” Not even the cry of a bird, or the whirr of its wing broke the impressive stillness of the solitude.

Tom was somewhat affected by the grand solemnity of the scene around him, and he stood a moment leaning upon his rifle, silent and thoughtful, swayed by those reverential emotions which, at times, come over the most ignorant of mankind.

While standing thus with his eyes fixed upon the ascending side of the valley, he was startled by seeing the loose dirt and stones, directly beneath a clump of bushes, rattle down the declivity, as though they had been dislodged by the foot of some person or animal.

The trapper was on the alert instantly. His eagle eye was fixed upon the bushes, with the sharp, penetrating glance of suspicion; but the vegetation was too dense and luxuriant for him to discover whether there was any thing beneath them or not.

“Wonder ef that was a Blackfoot,” he muttered, as he held his rifle ready for use at a second’s warning. “Some confounded varmint like as not is follerin’ me. I’ll see ef I can.”

Raising his gun to his shoulder, he aimed directly at the center of the bushes and discharged it. No response followed, not even the rattling of an additional pebble. All remained as quiet and motionless as before the disturbance took place.

This almost convinced the trapper that there was no man or animal concealed there. Even had he not hit him with his bullet, the shot itself would have caused a movement that would have loosened the debris again.

“I guess the thing done itself,” he concluded, as he reloaded his piece, and scrutinized a moment or two longer.

As he moved away, he occasionally turned his head and glanced back, but saw nothing to renew his suspicions, and by the time he had passed a hundred yards down the valley, he had come to the opinion that there was but one eye that was surveying his movements--and that was the eye that looked upon him in kindness and mercy, as it does upon all mortals.

Still no signs of gold.

He was now following the course of the stream down the valley. In some places it brawled over stones, with a noise that shut out all other sounds, and then it flowed calmly and still, like the current of a deep river.

It was of crystal clearness, and there was no place where he could not distinguish the bottom, as easily as though it were “liquid air” floating at his feet.

“Wonder ef thar’s any use of my wadin’ in thar, turnin’ over them stones, and lookin’ under them--”

Suddenly he paused. What did he see?

He looked steadily a moment, and his heart gave a jump, as he plainly distinguished something yellow glistening in the center of the bed. The next instant he had plunged into the stream, which was about a foot in depth, and thrusting his arm down, brought it to the surface and held it up to view.

Yes; it was a solid lump of pure gold!

Black Tom was certain of it. It was about the size of a hen’s egg, very heavy, and bright and glistening. There could be no doubt of its nature.

He waded ashore again, and then “hefted” it, turned it over and over, tossed it in the air, caught it, smelled of it, put his tongue to it and was delighted.

Why should he not be delighted? Was not this what had brought him to this region? Was it not worth more than many days’ labor of trapping?

“That’s the fust crop!” he exclaimed, as he carefully put it away about his person; “and it follers that thar must be more of the same sort ’bout hyar.”

The day was quite cool, and he was pretty wet; but he felt it not. His feelings were excited, and he was tenfold more anxious for the precious metal than he had ever been before. It seemed as if there was an all-controlling appetite that had hitherto been latent, that was now aroused to action, and that overcame every other emotion.

He thought nothing now of personal danger. Gold, gold, was his thirst, and it led him on his eager search.

The trapper walked along the edge of the stream, totally oblivious to every thing but the one thing that just then occupied his thoughts, to the exclusion of every thing else.

Several minutes passed thus, when he was aroused from this condition by a sharp voice, calling almost in his very ears:

“Hello there!” Starting back, Tom looked up and saw Fred Hammond standing a few feet in front of him.

“What’s the matter?” asked the hunter.

“You must get out of here, without a moment’s delay.”

“What’s the matter?” exclaimed Tom, staring about him as though he had just awakened to a sense of his perilous condition.

“The Blackfeet are after you.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere,” replied Hammond, somewhat excitedly; “there are two or three coming up the stream, and several coming down. They are trying to surround you, and if you remain here five minutes longer, you are a dead man.”

“I ain’t killed quite so easy as that,” said Tom, somewhat sullenly. “Ef thar ar’ any red-skins that ar’ goin’ to make a dead man of me, jest fetch ’em along; that’s what’s the matter.”

“Follow me, and don’t wait an instant,” commanded Hammond, fairly seizing upon him.

Instead of running either up or down-stream, the young man led the way to the high, steep side of the valley, which was thickly wooded, and extended full five hundred feet upward from where they stood.

Up this the two hounded like goats, half crawling and climbing through the wood and undergrowth, until, panting and almost exhausted, they reached the high ground above, where they paused awhile to gain their breath before proceeding further in this dangerous territory.

They had penetrated such a distance that they were effectually concealed from the view of whatever Indians there might be in the valley below, although, of course, the red-skins could easily follow their trail.

They stood a moment in silence, and then, when they had recovered their breath, Hammond placed his hand familiarly upon the shoulder of the trapper, and said, earnestly and kindly:

“Tom, you are an old hunter, and know more of the red-men and their ways than I do, but that doesn’t signify that you are in no need of counsel. I was wandering through this section, when I discovered your danger. It was not the situation of your body, so much as it was the condition of your mind. You had found gold, and were so excited over it, that a Blackfoot might have slipped up behind and tomahawked you. I saw it, and I got you up here, that you might recover your senses. There is gold down there--plenty of it; hunt carefully and you will find, but don’t look down all the while--LOOK UP!”