“We hold three claims, and that means quite a lot of assessment work for you and me to put in,” Saunders said. “Besides, you’ll have to go down and straighten up things with the Gold Commissioner.”
Devine made a sign of concurrence. When he had staked off the claims with Weston he had been more concerned about tracing the lode than anything else, and it had not occurred to him that they might be contested, as it certainly should have done. As the result of this, he had neglected one or two usual precautions, and when he filed his record he had not been as exact as was advisable in supplying bearings that would fix the precise limits of the holdings.
“Yes,” he said, “now that I’ve made a second survey, I’ll take the back trail in a day or two. The stakes are planted just where they should be, but the description I gave the Commissioner wasn’t quite as precise as I should have made it; and, as the thing stands, I’m not sure we’d have much to go upon if anybody pulled up our stakes and swung our claim a little off the lode. Anyway, I don’t quite see why the Commissioner shouldn’t pass my survey to count for assessment work.”
The firelight fell on Saunders’ face, and he looked thoughtful. Though the thing is by no means common, claims have been jumped in that country—that is, occupied by men who surreptitiously or forcibly oust the rightful owner on the ground that he has not done the work required by law, or has been inaccurate in his record.
“I guess you’d better go down to-morrow when the boys come up,” he said. “It’s a fact that Van Staten went over to Cedar to see the Gold Commissioner, and from what one of the boys told me he had quite a long talk with him. Van Staten’s straight, but it would be part of his duty to examine our record and mention it to the people who sent him up to investigate.” He paused and spread out his hands. “I wouldn’t stake my last dollar on the honesty of any of them.”
“The boys would start when they got the news you sent them,” said Devine.
Saunders smiled ruefully. He felt reasonably certain that every man in the settlement would abandon his occupation when he heard the message they had sent by an Indian they met on the trail soon after they started. Saunders, it must be admitted, had not sent it until Devine insisted on his doing so, for, as he shrewdly said, there was not a great deal of the lode that could be economically worked available, and he wanted to make quite sure that the Grenfell properties were on the richest of it, while the boys would be better employed working on their ranches and buying things from him than worrying over profitless claims. He added that if the latter broke them he would in all probability never recover what they owed him.
“They’ll be here, sure, bringing as much of my pork and flour as they can pack along,” he said. “It’s quite likely Jim won’t have raised thirty dollars among the crowd of them.”
“Well,” said Devine, “if I’m to take the trail tomorrow I’m going right under my blanket now.”
He rolled it round him and lay down on a pile of spruce twigs outside the tent. The dew was rather heavy, but he was young and strong, and it is a luxury to sleep in the open in that elixir-like mountain air. He went to sleep at once, and it was evidently early morning when Saunders awakened him, for the moon, which had not cleared the eastern peaks when he lay down, was now high in the heavens. He sprang to his feet, and stood a moment or two shivering a little as he looked about him. It was very cold, and the little open space where the tent stood was flooded with silvery light, though here and there the shadows of the firs fell athwart it black as ink and sharp as a fretwork cut in ebony. Then he saw Saunders close beside him, fumbling with the magazine of his repeating-rifle.