"Tell you what I will do," he continued, a little later, having evidently been dwelling on the subject: "if we strike a rich lead I'll give my share to Miss 'Lizabeth. She'd know how to make it fly, I reckon! As for me, I've neither wife nor child, and all I want is enough to keep me in tobaccy."
Buckskin Joe had no need of riches; but when, an hour later, they emerged from the woods into a wild and rock ravine, down the center of which a little stream came dashing and roaring, leaping from rock to rock, broken into foam one moment, and mended with silver bands the next—when they emerged into this secluded place, over which great masses of mountain hung threateningly, dark with frowning pines, rough with water-washed rocks, he threw up his cap, and shouted aloud:
"Here's the spot, Wolfe! Unless I'm more mistaken than ever I war' in my life, thar's gold enough in this ravine to pave the ground a mile square for Miss 'Lizabeth to walk over. I'll show you my reasons in less'n half an hour."
The hot blood rushed into the hunter's cheeks; a bright light danced in his eye; his breath came more quick with the excitement of the hour. Was he about to lay his hand on untold treasures? He believed so.
The circumstances which had brought the two adventurers to this remote and unsuspected locality were these: Upon the previous year, Buckskin Joe, crossing the mountains with a brother trapper, all alone, with no other object but game, furs and "the fun of the thing," happened upon this wild, romantic and picturesque spot. Resolved to follow the ravine up the mountain side, they commenced the difficult work of making their way from rock to rock, hight to hight, charmed with the noisy play of the stream. Coming into a little dell where the water was gathered into a basin worn in the rock, from which it overflowed and tumbled down a moss-grown steep, Joe stooped to drink, when his eyes caught the glitter of a large pebble lying in the bottom of the basin. He plunged in his arm and brought up a lump of pure, soft gold, nearly uncontaminated with other substances, and weighing nearly a pound. They lingered around the spot several days, finding half a dozen smaller specimens; then, having no way to bring off much treasure, and Joe's companion here injuring himself by an accident with his rifle, they were obliged to leave the mountains. They took their gold with them, and their story spread like wild-fire; but they betrayed to no one the exact locality of their discovery.
Another company made some discoveries in the same region that autumn. The news traveled through the winter and spring, and the summer saw people from all parts of the United States on their way to the new El Dorado.
So tardy and indifferent had Buckskin Joe been about profiting further by his good luck, that this was the first trip to the mountains since the time of his fortunate visit; the companion of his former trip was dead; he was sole possessor of the knowledge of a "lead" which, he was convinced, after a few days' observation of the "diggins" about Pike's Peak, was richer than any of them. He had come to the mature resolve to take Nat Wolfe into confidence and partnership—especially since he had observed the threatening clouds lowering about the two young people since the advent of the father into the interests of the group.
The result of a talk he had held with the moody hunter, a fortnight after the arrival of the company at their destination, was this private expedition, upon which the two set off, unsuspected by others.
With his present increased knowledge of mining, Joe "calkilated" to pick up enough stray nuggets in the quiet basins and gullies of the stream to make the two men rich beyond their wishes, before it would be necessary to take any trouble of machinery. He was sure that the accumulated washings of centuries were lying ready to their hands.
With eager, watchful eyes and glowing veins the gold hunters pushed forward up the difficult ravine. The stream was now dwindled to about its slenderest proportions; it was an excellent season in which to attempt their plans; but the brief September afternoon began to darken before they had laid their hands upon any tangible evidence to give substance to their brilliant dreams. The sun, sinking early behind the mountains, threw their deep shadows over the way, often slippery and uncertain.