Coming back, we decided to go another way to look at a new outcrop that had been discovered. This brought us above the camp, and we could, by scrambling down a pretty steep cliff, save a long walk round. We got a rope round Sayers, which was held by a man above him, and with another man below to place his feet, we managed to get him down, though he protested strongly. This was the first and last trip Sayers took with us, as he decided he was not cut out for mountaineering; and he was at least convinced that there was a mine, which was all he had come to see.

We stayed about a week; then I collected my samples, and we started back for Golden. On the second day, as we were coming round a bend, we ran full into a she-bear and two half-grown cubs. She certainly looked mean as she barred our way, while the cubs fled up the hillside. I told Sayers I was going to take a shot at her with my revolver (of which I had not really the least intention), and he nearly died of fright. I should not have felt like joking had I not known that the bear would have to eat Sayers before it could begin on me.

We got down to Carbonate landing without mishap, and there, as we were all heartily sick of riding Indian file, we sent our horses in with a man from the hotel, and, getting a boat, we rowed down to Golden, thirty-two miles, in something like three hours, assisted by a current like a mill-race. Here I sorted out my samples, and shipping half to Vancouver for assay, I brought the rest back with me to Toronto for the same purpose. We had bought the property—part cash and part time-notes—but, owing to bad management, and, I am afraid, considerable crooked work, our funds ran out and we could not meet payments. I went to every friend I had in Guelph and Toronto and tried to borrow money to tide us over, and Townsley did the same, as we were preparing to float a company on the good reports of the mining engineers and the different assays I had had made. But we were a year or two too early, as no one would touch West Kootenay mines or advance a dollar on them. Later on, every one was scrambling to buy stock in any hole in the ground up there, and some of the very men who refused me in 1894 sank thousands in 1895 and 1896 in worthless prospects. The end of it was we lost the mine, which was afterwards taken up by wealthy Hamilton men, who are making money out of it to-day. I believe, however, if it had been decently and honestly managed we might have just scraped through.

I returned to Guelph, broke and disgusted, and tried to get something to do, but did not succeed that winter. In the spring of 1895 I received a letter from Bole in New York, saying he was interested in developing an asphaltum mine in Texas, and if I wished I could get work there. But I should have to start at the bottom as a labourer and work my way up, if I had it in me. He was very sore at my not taking his advice in regard to the mine. My wife’s health needed my remaining a few weeks longer, if possible, but I was told that I could not expect the offer to remain open. So, on the 12th of April, with a heavy heart I started off for Texas to make another effort to recoup my fortunes and make a living for my family. My friend, Cursin of Guelph, was just starting on a trip to Mexico, and we decided to travel together. I arrived in San Antonio, and took my letter of introduction to the company’s office. There I was duly hired at $1.25 (5s. 2½d.) per day, and told to report to the superintendent at Cline, 118 miles west of San Antonio. Young Cursin wanted to see the mine, and I got permission for him to go out and stay a couple of days. We arrived at Cline station, which is seven miles from the mines, but luckily a freight wagon of the company’s was there, and I got the Mexicans to take our trunks, while Cursin and I walked. This Kootenay mine, above mentioned, is an example of the fact that the western states and provinces of America thrive on our “thousand-pounders.” I put in £1000, and, as I have said, my English friend Cursin put in £2270; total, a present of £3270 to the Hamilton men! That is how the “thousand-pounders” nourish the West. Nor did the experience lead to much, for we both lost largely in subsequent investments.

CHAPTER XI

Cline—Bunk-houses—Work on a Rock-crusher—Mexican Dancing and Music.

Immediately on arrival I reported to the superintendent in charge of the mines at Cline. He told me to go to the men’s boarding-house and take any cot I found vacant, and also one for my friend.

The men’s boarding-house was a two-storey frame building, of which the upper part was divided into three dormitories, and the lower into dining-room and kitchen. It was built so shakily that any one walking upstairs shook the whole building, and was so roughly put together that the wind whistled through the walls everywhere. It was terribly hot in summer, having only a light shingle roof; and when a norther was blowing, the cold was intense in the winter.

Besides this bunk-house there was an office building, above which the office force slept, a house for the chief engineer, one for the foreman, and one for the superintendent. The latter was an old Confederate colonel, once a slave-owner, who could not get over the slave-time idea that a “gentleman” should not work, and really must not be bothered with “details.” I heard him say once, in answer to a query as to whether he had time to come and look at something: “Sir, I want you to understand that a gentleman always has time.” He really had so much time that about a month after I arrived the company decided to give him an indefinite holiday. They tell a story in the south about the old Confederate veterans. A farmer, who was showing a visitor over his farm, made the remark that all of his hands were old soldiers. Said the visitor, "You don’t tell me! Are any of them officers?" “Two of them,” said the farmer.

“That one there is a private, the man beyond is a major, and the man way yonder is a colonel.” “Are they all good men?” asked the visitor. "Well, I ain’t going to say anything against any man who fought for the South," said the farmer. "That private is a first-class man; but I’ve made up my mind to one thing—I ain’t going to hire any brigadier-generals."