CHAPTER X WORK STOPPED
The next morning Ben saw a picture of himself above the title “Our Boy Miner,” in one of the daily papers. He felt the sensationalism of it, but he could not deny that it pleased him.
“Publicity was the penalty one had to pay for being prominent,” he told himself. And the thought pulled him very erect, like a balloon tugging at his neckband.
He was elated with success. All doubts which he had previously felt about speculation being a hazardous way of making money vanished like mists before the sun. The warnings he had heard all his life from the wiseacres about the slow way being the sure way he now felt to be all nonsense. Indeed, so egotistical is success, that he even wondered that he could ever have felt any doubts.
"Our Boy Miner"
“After I’ve made my fortune, I’ll be old-fogyish and save the cents,” he reflected. “This mining venture is quite as sure a way of making money as clerking in a store—and much more rapid.” His attention was attracted by something Mundon was saying to a reporter who was making a “story” of their experience.
“O, ’taint no trouble to show you our operations,” Mundon remarked; “no trouble at all. If ’twas a real mine underground that’d be another thing. Folks was so curious ’bout a mine I once had up in Placer County that I trained a dog I had to show ’em ’round. I’d fasten a candle to a strap that went ’round his forehead and he’d take ’em all over that mine. Got so knowin’ at last that when he’d pass any rich ore he’d stop and bark. Sure!” He added, as the hearer’s smile proclaimed his incredulity, “You kin put that in your paper, and I’ll vouch for it.”
“I wish Mundon wouldn’t yarn it so,” Ben said to himself. “And I wish all these folks would go home before we make the clean-up.” He drew Mundon aside. “Can’t you get rid of them before we melt the stuff?”
“Don’t know. They ’pear to be powerful interested in what we’re doin’,” the other replied.
“That’s just it; they’re too much interested. We’ve got gold on both days; but there’s no knowing how long that luck will last. Suppose we opened the crucible some night and didn’t get anything?”
“Well, ’twouldn’t kill us if we didn’t—just once.”
“Just think what they’d say!”
Mundon smiled. “What do we care what they say?” he sturdily asserted. “I tell you, Ben, I wouldn’t be a bit sorry if it got noised ’round that we weren’t makin’ such a bloomin’ lot.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’d keep folks from gettin’ envious, for one thing.”
The result of the day’s work did not greatly vary from those of the other two. About the same small quantity of gold-sponge remained in the crucible, and the crowd seemed slightly disappointed.
“That little bit wouldn’t make anybody very envious,” remarked Ben. “In fact, I doubt if most people would work as hard as we have for it.”
“You think it wouldn’t; but you don’t know much ’bout envy, and you don’t know men. This is the stuff,” Mundon said, as he carefully took the gold from the crucible, “be it much or little of it, that makes wild beasts of men. ’Most all the sins that make a man into a beast can be laid to this pretty shinin’ dirt.”
On the afternoon of the fourth day Ben and Mundon were working like beavers.
“’Bout five minutes now, and we’ll take out the amalgam,” Mundon remarked. “I b’lieve it’ll carry more than twice as much as yesterday’s. Somehow, the stuff shined more when we broke it up. I reckon I’ve got ’bout a quarter of the chimney chipped.”
“That’s slick,” said Ben. “When do you think we’d better tackle the ground?”
“O, that’ll keep till we’re through with the chimney. You see, a good deal works through the cracks now, and we kin make a thorough clean-up afterwards. I b’lieve there’s lots of copper as well as gold and silver in that slag under the old wharf.”
“You do?”
“I’m ’most as certain of it as I am of the chimney. If we make as much as the opium brought, I s’pose you’ll be satisfied?”
“That would be good enough.”
“Queer them smuggler fellers never showed up, ain’t it? The more I think of it the more certain I am that that was what the burglar was after.”
“But we couldn’t find any traces of the drug.”
“Mebbe he got it before we run out. Well, most likely some one of those Government chaps warned ’em not to come here while the watch was bein’ kept up. There’s gen’rally some one gits wind of such a plan in time to make fools of the rest. I s’pose the temptation to be tricky is too much for ’em.”
“Yes. And I suppose there are many temptations to a man in such a position.”
“Bless you! I guess there is! There’s lots of men who’d be square enough, if they was let alone; but put ’em in a place where there’s a chance to cheat and some one to show ’em the way, and they don’t need no coaxin’. Did you suspicion any of ’em in partic’lar?”
“Well,” Ben hesitated, “it’s an awful mean thing to say about a man when you’ve got no proof,”—he dropped his voice,—“but you know I didn’t like the man who was put in charge of the case.”
“What’s his name?”
“Cutter. I couldn’t help feeling that he wasn’t straight. He didn’t seem sincere.”
“He wasn’t ’round here at all, was he?”
“No. But there wasn’t any need of his coming. He just stays in the office and directs others. How easily he could warn the men who stowed away the stuff here not to come after it!”
“They made me mad with their suspicions!” Mundon exclaimed. “I should think that ’sperience would have taught ’em to suspect one of theirselves sooner than us. ’Twas only one man as showed any suspicions outright, and like as not he was one of the rogues himself. I was half a mind to tell him so once, but I knowed ’twouldn’t do no good.”
“Not a bit,” Ben agreed; “and it might do harm.”
“Mining’s a curious business. It’s the only business on earth, though, where you ain’t cuttin’ the ground away from under some other man’s feet. You’re just a-gettin’ somethin’ that everybody wants and needs, and, consequently, everybody’s glad you’re gettin’ it. It’s a gamble, and that’s why it’s so thunderin’ fascinatin’. There’s one drawback, though; it makes a man distrustful of his kind,—I s’pose ’cause it’s so mighty easy to get fooled. An old miner doesn’t b’lieve in any one but just himself—from principle. It’s astonishin’, how completely he kin pin his faith to rocks, and how he balks when it comes to tryin’ it on human nature.”
“Father wasn’t much so,” remarked Ben; “but he was an exception, I suppose.”
“He wasn’t rich, was he?”
“No; although he often thought he was. His riches never came near enough to capture.”
“That’s it, you see. But you take an old miner who’s made his fortunes, and lost ’em through havin’ salted mines worked off on him,—if he ain’t the scariest bird ever seen! Talk about saltin’ a bird’s tail! Why, he wouldn’t trust his own twin brother!”
“Well, there’s no danger of ours being salted.”
“No; ’cause ’twasn’t thought to be a mine. I’ve seen some queer tricks played in that line. Once I knew a man who went to look at a mine. He saw the samples taken from all over the mine, put ’em in canvas bags himself, and never took his eyes off these bags till they was sealed up with his private seal. Just as the rest of the party was gettin’ into the stage to leave, the man who was a-thinkin’ of buyin’ the mine had a kind of a feelin’ that he’d ben fooled. He couldn’t explain it nohow, but he just had that feelin’. So, he wouldn’t get on that stage, but he went all over the mine a second time and took another set of samples. Well, the assays told the story. The first set went more’n a hundred dollars to the ton, and the last set went less ’n a dollar.”
“How did they break the seals?”
“They didn’t break ’em. They salted the bags after he sealed ’em by squeezin’ a quill toothpick through the canvas and blowin’ gold-dust into ’em. I don’t wonder that——”
Mundon was interrupted by a pounding on the gates.
“I’ll go,” said Ben.
When he had unfastened the gates, two men walked into the yard. The first handed Ben a paper.
“What does this mean?” Ben wonderingly asked. He did not at first comprehend the meaning of the proceeding, but his eye caught the word “injunction,” and he knew that meant “stop.”
“It’s an injunction served upon you,” the man replied.
“Are you an officer?”
“I am.”
“What ground—” Ben stopped, for he felt his voice tremble.
“It’s to compel you to stop working another man’s property.”
“But I bought the right to work it—from the owner!” Ben cried.
“That he did,” Mundon spoke up stoutly, “and I signed as a witness.”
“Where is the owner? Where is old Madge? I’ve got his signature to the paper! He can’t go back on that!” the boy exclaimed. “He’s done this from spite, because I refused to take him into partnership!”
“Don’t get excited,” the officer said. “Mr. Madge has nothing to do with this.”
There was an angry light in Ben’s eyes.
“Well, who has, then?” he defiantly inquired.
“I have,” the other man replied.
He had not spoken before, and he seemed to enjoy the boy’s distress. He was a small man, shabbily dressed, and there was nothing about his appearance to indicate that he could be possessed of wealth.
He paused after those two words and appeared to relish prolonging the suspense.
Ben turned upon him. “What have you got to do with it?” he asked.
“I happen to be the owner of the land—and improvements.”
“But you leased it, and the lease does not expire until next November. The improvements belong to the man who leased the land and put them on it.”
“The lease expired a month ago.”
“That is false!” Ben’s indignation was so great that he could hardly speak.
“Mr. Madge told us that the lease ran for thirty-five years, and commenced in November, 1866!”
“That was the date on which the building was commenced; the lease dated from four months earlier.”
Ben turned to Mundon sick at heart. “Can’t you remember what he said when I filled in the dates?”
“He said the first pile for the buildin’ was drove in November, 1866; but he meant fur us to think that were the date of the lease, too. ’Pears like we’ve ben taken in, Ben.”
“The building belongs to me and the rubbish that’s here. I’ve paid for it fairly and squarely, and it’s only right that I should be allowed to work here until November. I bought the right to do it.”
“We’re not talking about any rights now, young man, except those the law allows,” the owner remarked with a dryness that was irritating. “You can’t trespass on another man’s property to work anything.” He turned to Mundon, who was bending over the “jigger.” “Stop that! That’s mine!” he cried.
Mundon straightened himself. In his hand he held a wide-mouthed bottle partly filled with amalgam.
“No, it ain’t,” he replied. “It b’longs to this young man. He’d just about finished with his day’s work when you came in,—and it b’longs to him.”
“I’ve got the law on my side. He can’t take anything off this property—my property—now.”
“Well then,” responded Mundon, setting the bottle on the floor of the “jigger,” “neither kin you. If you touch this stuff before this thing’s settled, I’ll have the law on you.”
The two men looked at each other for a moment.
Then Mundon drew Ben aside. “’Tain’t no use talkin’ to him. I know him—his name’s Fish and he’s a reg’lar old shark. Rich as anythin’—owns piles of tenements and grinds his tenants down ter their marrer bones. I saw him nosin’ ’round here on the day we made our first clean-up. The question is, What are you goin’ to do?”
“O, I don’t know!” Ben cried in despair.
The two strangers were leisurely surveying the arastra and its contents.
“Know any lawyer?” Mundon asked.
“No.”
A recollection of Mr. Hale, who had been in the Collector’s office on the day of his visit, flashed before him. He believed him to be the great lawyer of whom he had heard. He had appeared interested in the venture, if skeptical; and since then the scheme had proved a success. Ben was thinking very hard.
“’Cause if you do,” Mundon continued, “he might find some hole fur us to crawl out of.”
This view of the situation was humiliating, but Ben was forced to accept it.
“Stay here and watch things, while I go down town and see what can be done,” he answered. He was angrier than he had ever been in his life. The injustice of being made a victim of fraud seemed to sear his spirit like hot iron. To be tricked, cheated, and have no redress was such a monstrous wrong!
“To think,” he said to himself on his way down-town, “how I resisted the temptation not to tell old Madge my whole plan! This is the reward I get for being too conscientious. I ought not to have told a soul!”
Bitter thoughts crowded fast upon him as he hurried along. He recalled a conversation he had once heard between two young men. One had said that there was not a rich man living who had acquired his wealth—unless it had been inherited—honestly and with a clear conscience. Ben had been impressed with this statement and had repeated it to his father, who had denounced it as false. “There are plenty of knaves among rich men, but there are honest men, too,” his father had said. “It must have been a poor man, envious of the wealth of others who said that thing.”
Still, Ben reflected that his father had been a poor man, credulous, trusting in all men, to his own disadvantage sometimes.
“In order to get on in the world was it necessary to deceive and cheat?” the boy questioned. “No, it isn’t true!” he exclaimed aloud, causing the passers-by to regard him curiously. “I’d rather be in my place and know that I’ve done the square thing than be in his! I wouldn’t stain my immortal soul for gold!”
Sustained by this thought, he found courage to make his appeal.
Mr. Hale was in his office, and in a few words Ben told him what had happened.
“So, you’ve come to grief already, my boy,” the lawyer said. “Well, let’s see what can be done.”
He asked Ben a few questions and dispatched a messenger to the City Hall to search for the recording of the lease.
“Now, go home and wait,” he said in conclusion. “And don’t worry about it any more than you can help.”
“Thank you. About paying you, Mr. Hale,—” Ben began, but the other interrupted him.
“Never mind about that. I don’t expect any pay. I sometimes do things for pure love of humanity. Queer way to do business, isn’t it? But I made my own way in the world, boy, and I know what it is. Why, when I first went in for law, it was like climbing a greased pole backwards.”
Ben left the office with a lighter heart; as, indeed, did most people. Like them, too, he had a conviction that the lawyer would find a way out of the dilemma.
Mr. Hale had told Ben that he had no right to occupy or work the property while the injunction was pending; so he hastened back to consult with Mundon as to the best course to be pursued.
He found the latter disconsolately sitting upon the fence. The mule was tied to a post alongside, and the pair presented a sorry appearance.
The men had departed, Mundon said, after nailing up the gates.
The partners agreed to take turns in keeping guard over the premises until the result of Mr. Hale’s search was known; and it was decided that Ben should take the first night.
“It’s exasperating not to know how much there is in the amalgam. In all justice, it’s mine!” said Ben, with flashing eyes. “And I intend to watch it,—and fight for it too, if need be.”
“You’ve got to fight such mean sneaks with one weapon—and only one—and that’s the law,” remarked Mundon, carefully whittling a stick he held. “There ain’t no other way you kin git the best of ’em.” He pointed up the hillside. “There’s your cousin now. She’s ben down here askin’ after you.”
“Come out on the Point for a while, Ben,” said Beth. “It will rest you.”
With a grave face he joined her, and they slowly walked along the beach.