Many were the jolly times we now had. How the jokes flew past each other over the puddings, and the crisp pies needed almost no other seasoning. How cheerfully "the boys" brought wood and water and counted it reward enough if they only received a smile from little Alma. Many a man was glad enough, too, to render such service for a meal or lunch of hot coffee and doughnuts, especially such good, big, motherly ones as Mary made, and there was no lack of men helpers. How the coffee steamed, the hot bread and meats smoked, and the soup odors tantalized the olfactories of hundreds of "tenderfeet" with their lusty Alaska appetites, which were increased by an open air life such as all in those days were living.
When at last we were summoned to our work, on Number Nine, the Swedish women pressed my hand cordially, leaving a good-sized bill in it at the same time, saying: "When you get through on Number Nine come back to us; we need you." I thanked them gratefully and said good-bye.
The English girl and myself were soon settled in our little tent with its clean new floor on the hillside of claim Number Nine. No tree was to be seen on the long, rolling hills, and only an occasional boulder on some summit like Anvil Peak, perched as a sentinel above us. A few wild flowers bloomed on the tundra, and the waters of the little stream gurgled over the soft slate pebbles that strewed its course; but the season so far was a dry one, and more water was needed before much could be done at sluicing. Miners were not happy at the prospect of a dry season, which meant a stoppage of all mining operations, and eagerly scanned the heavens for rain indications. A small force of men were at work night and day. On Thursday, July twelfth, eleven hundred dollars in gold dust was taken from the sluice boxes in the creek, and two days afterwards twelve thousand dollars, with which the owner of the claim was much dissatisfied, calling them small clean-ups.
A few hundred feet up stream, on Number Ten, the machinery of C. D. Lane whirred constantly. On the upper end of Number Nine a small new machine called a separator was put in by some men from New York who had taken a lay on the claim; but this scheme was not successful.
Seeing men at work prospecting along the "benches," as the banks of a stream or hillsides are called by miners, and having a woman's proverbial curiosity, after my work was done I climbed the hill to investigate. The prospectors had left after digging a hole about six feet deep and four square, evidently having satisfied themselves as to what the ground contained. Into this hole I descended to feel of the cold, wet earth and inspect the walls.
The miners had reached the frost line and gone, taking with them samples of pretty white quartz rock, as much of the debris at the bottom of the hole plainly showed, but whether it contained gold I knew not. As yet I was a tenderfoot; but something satisfactory was without doubt found here and in the vicinity, as quartz claims were staked over the placer claims the whole length of Anvil Creek that summer.
While rambling about in search of flowers during our afternoon rests, we found many interesting spots. To the northwest, over the high, bare ridge, lay Snow Gulch, from which fabulous sums had the summer before been taken, the blue and winding waters of famous Glacier Creek lying just beyond. Walking through the dry, deep tundra over the hills was warm, hard work, though we wore short skirts and high, stout boots, and womanlike, we were always filled to the brim with questions and ready to rest if we chanced to meet any one, which was not often.
Wherever we went, and whatever the hour, we met with no incivility. Hats were lifted, and men rested a moment upon their shovels to look after us as we passed, while frequently some rough miner swallowed the lump in his throat or wiped a tear, as he thought of his wife, daughter or sweetheart far away. We were the only women in the mines for miles around, but felt no fear whatever, and indeed we were as safe there as at home, and there was no occasion for anxiety.
Life was extremely interesting. Our work was not hard the first few weeks; after that the force of men was increased. Rich pans of dirt (two shovels full to a pan) were daily being brought to light. One pan contained seventy-two dollars and seventy-five cents, one eighty-three dollars and thirty-five cents. Big, fat nuggets already melted into wondrous shapes, but iron rusted, as all Anvil Creek gold is, for some reason, was discovered each day. One nugget tipped the scales at thirty-nine dollars, one at twenty dollars, and one at fifty dollars, with many others of like value.
Wednesday, August eighth, the following entry was made in my diary: "Today has been the banner day for gold dust. The night's cleanup of twelve hours' work was a big one—three pans full of gold. Later—Still more yet. A cleanup of nine thousand dollars and three of the largest nuggets I ever saw has just been made this evening. Two of the nuggets were long and flat, as large as a tree-toad, and much the shape of one. The men took the first load of gold dust to town—seventy-five pounds—but the bank was closed before they could get the remainder there. The foreman says they are prepared to keep it here safely over night, however, and I believe they are, judging by the big protuberances on their hip pockets."