Presently "Old Night Cap" loomed up against the sky.
"This is as far as we could come a year or two ago," said Mr. Allen to Willis. "Before the railroad and the inn were built we used to think it was a long way even up here to the old mine."
"Did I ever tell you about the old Negro that owned this mine? Well, he came herein the early days and found a strange yellow outcropping here. He built himself a funny little shanty on the hillside, which he thatched with spruce boughs. Here he spent a good many years of his life, digging. His tunnel caved in soon after he left it, but he did find a little gold for his work. When his provisions gave out, he would take his old mule, which was his only companion, tramp into the city, sell his little bag of gold dust, and buy bacon, flour, and beans. After a little spree he would return to the mine, always sure that he would find the gold in larger quantities. Often I've stopped to talk with him as he brought a wheelbarrow load of dirt out of the tunnel to the edge of the little old dump.
"'Yep, I'se 'bout to fin' heaps an' heaps o' gol',' he'd say as he pulled at his stubby gray whiskers. 'Marse Spruce-tree, yondah, he done tole me to jes' keep a diggin' an' I'd sho fin' gol'. When I 'se jes' 'bout to gib up, an' I does sometimes, yes, sah, I does, ole Marse Spruce-tree he jes' stan' up yondah on de hillside an' laff an' say, "Why, Rufus, yuse is altogedder wufless." Ole Brer Rabbit, he nod he haid an' 'spress heself same way. "Jes keep a diggin', Unc' Rufus," he say, "Jes' keep a diggin'." They sho is gol' in this yere ole world if ye jes' keeps a diggin'.'
"He'd sing all day as he worked, and never seemed to lose faith; but when the canyon road was extended, and the inn built, it took away the quiet and solitude from the place. The old man just picked up his belongings and went farther back into the mountains—no one knew where; but somewhere, I suspect, he is still talking aloud to the trees and making friends with the wild things, still giving his life to digging up dreams and living for hopes that will never be realized. It's a strange disease, this gold fever. I've never had it, but I've heard Old Ben at the Inn tell how it's nearly impossible for a man to go back to his work in the city after he has once seen the golden glitter and dug the precious metal from the earth."
Willis had remained very quiet all through the story. A strange sadness seemed to have settled upon his spirit. Several times Mr. Allen addressed him, but upon receiving no reply turned and looked closely into the boy's face. His head was thrown back, and he seemed to be lost in the beauty of the starry night. In a very quiet tone Mr. Allen said, "A penny for your thoughts, boy."
Willis laughed a dry little laugh, and, turning to him, replied:
"O, I was just thinking. I hardly know what, exactly. I was thinking of how that old darky's tunnel caved in. Do all tunnels cave in? I was thinking of my father." He linked his arm through the "Chief's" as they walked on up the canyon. "My father was a miner, you know. That's how he lost his life." Mr. Allen understood the mood now.
"You must tell me more of him some time, Willis. Was he like you?"
"Not very much, but I'm going to be like him, if I can," replied Willis. "Sometimes, since I've been here in Colorado, especially here in the mountains, I've fancied that he was near me again, watching and guiding and keeping me company. It's hard for a fellow like me not to have a father. Mr. Allen, I don't believe the fellows who have them half appreciate them, do you?"