SINKING FOR GOLD

Next morning the Five-Mile Flat was the scene of extraordinary activity. Tents sprung up like mushrooms in all directions, and the thud, thud of picks sounded incessantly. It was almost pitiful to witness the feverish eagerness with which most of the diggers tried to bottom on their claims. The depth of the Lead at Discovery shaft was given out to be only forty feet, but the strata encountered before that level was reached had been of a flinty impervious nature, necessitating the use of much giant powder.

At least the original prospectors, who were camped near to us, gave me that information in a fit of generosity when they learned that I had some little experience of geological formations. They even allowed me to descend their shaft—most unheard-of thing—and compute the angle and dip of the lode for the benefit of the general assembly; a privilege which was duly appreciated, as it enabled me to calculate the proper position in our own claim at which to sink. The lode, so called, proved to be an auriferous wash, or alluvial gutter, the bed of an extremely ancient watercourse, probably silted up long before the time of the Pharaohs.

Our newly-acquired companion, who had already won the good graces of both Mac and Stewart, astonished me greatly, while I was expounding my theories on these matters for his special edification, by making several courteous corrections to my statements, so that I was forced to tread more cautiously; and when I had finished, he capped my argument with a lucid technical discourse and much scientific addenda.

"You certainly know a fair-sized amount for an inexperienced man," I said, with some irritation; but he hastened to explain.

"My knowledge is purely theoretical," he replied. "Perhaps I should not have spoken."

His admirable good sense appealed to Mac's idea of fairness. "I'm thinkin'," began that gentleman, gazing at me reproachfully, "I'm thinkin' that oor freen Phil-ip is a vera modest man, a vera modest man indeed."

"I'm o' the opeenion," cried Stewart, from the interior of the tent, "that if he keeps awa' frae tailie coats, and dresses rashunal, he'll be a rale orniment tae ony camp."

The young man was much moved by these expressions of good-will; but when I asked him to mark off his allotment on our too large mining territory, he stubbornly refused. "If it had not been for your kindness I should have no claim to any corner of the ground," he said.

I explained, however, that Mac, Stewart, and myself would not be allowed by law to possess a four-men holding, and therefore there was no kindness on my part in giving him back his own. Yet still he hesitated.

"I am all alone, boys," he said at last, "and I don't think I could do much damage to the ground by myself. Might I come in with you?"

This was a dénoûement I had not anticipated, though in some unaccountable manner I felt drawn to the stranger; still, the vision of his coat-tails fluttering in the wind could not be dispelled.

"What do you say, Mac?" I asked, expecting a gruff rejoinder in the negative; but the answer agreeably surprised me.

"Discovery" Shaft—on Gold.

"He's a man o' pairts like oorsel's, a modest man, an' a golologist forbye," replied Mac, grandiloquently; "it wud be sinfu' tae refuse him oor guid company."

Then Stewart, who had been paying great attention, rushed from the tent and added his testimony. "Tailie coat or no tailie coat," he shouted, "he's a guid man, as I kin testeefy, an' me an' Mac'll be prood tae hae him wi' us. Forbye," he continued, "he's a Breetisher, an' tho' he isna Scotch, me an' Mac'll look ower that fau't wi' muckle tolerashun."

"I wis aboot tae re-mark——" began Mac, but Stewart had not completed his peroration.

"Haud yer tongue, Mac," said he sternly; "ye ken weel yer nae speaker like me." Then he resumed the flow of his eloquence: "An' noo," he said, "on behauf o' Mac—wha is a man o' disteenction tho' he disna look it—an' in conformeety wi' ma ain incleenations, I hae pleesure in signifyin' oor muckle approval o' yer qualities."

The candidate for admission to our illustrious company looked gratified, as well he might, and straightening his tall form he endeavoured to make suitable reply to the expectant couple.

"Gentlemen!" said he, and at the word Mac hitched up his nether garments and looked solemn, while Stewart coughed discreetly. "Gentlemen," repeated "tailie coat" in a voice that seemed to issue from his boots, "it is with considerable feeling of elation that I have heard your extemporaneous——"

"Haud on!" howled Mac in horror; "ye'll dae, ma man, ye'll dae. Come on, Stewart." And as they walked sorrowfully apart Stewart's voice floated back plaintively,

"Noo, Mac, hoo am I gaun tae keep up oor digneety efter that—ex-tem-por-anee——! He's deceived us, Mac; he's a lamb in sheep's ooter gairments, he is."

"Well, Phil," I said, when they had disappeared within the tent, "I think we'll get along all right."

"I feel at home already," he replied, looking towards the tent in grim amusement, "and enthusiastic enough to swing a pick with either Mac or Stewart, and that means much, I think."

"It does," I agreed with significance, and we went off to mark the site of our prospective shaft.

It was nearly midday before we commenced to excavate the ground, and by that time most of the miners around had penetrated several feet of the top sandy formation in their various claims. But haste is not always advisable under such circumstances, and I preferred to make as sure as possible of the lode's position within our pegs before sinking, and so obviate any necessity for laborious "driving" when bedrock was reached. We were fortunately in the "shallowest" ground, being within a hundred yards of the forty-feet level strike, which meant, judging by the dip or inclination of the auriferous wash, that we should probably find bottom about fifty feet down. As for the numbers below us, they might have to sink over a hundred feet, and even then miss the golden leader, so elusive are these subterranean channels.

The usual size of prospectors' shafts on any goldfield is five feet six inches long, by two feet six inches wide, and this just permits of sufficient room for one man to wield a pick. The aim of every miner on an unproved field is to get down to bedrock with the least possible labour, which is also the speediest method. A shaft can be widened afterwards when it has been found worth while, but it is always well to refrain from shovelling out two or three tons of granite-like substance, as is done by most "new chums," merely for the sake of having more elbow-room during the trying process of sinking.

After our experience with the frozen gravel at Klondike, it almost seemed like child's play to dig out the comparatively loose sand conglomeration which formed the topmost layer in the line of our descent. There was no fire-burning necessary here, but Nature, nevertheless, had made the balance even, for the auriferous levels in Alaska were rarely half as deep as even the shallow gutter we were now searching for. And again, in frozen ground the surface formations are naturally the hardest, whereas in most other workings that order is reversed.

"It's a pleesure tae work i' this grund," was Mac's statement, when, after scarcely two hours' labour, he stood nearly waist deep in the new shaft. With much foresight, that wily individual had volunteered to sink the first few feet alone. "I'm just burstin' wi' surplush energy," he explained to Stewart, "an' you can dae twa or three fit o' the easy stuff when I'm feenished."

"It's rale conseederate o' ye, Mac," said Stewart feelingly, with thoughts on the nature of things at Skookum Gulch, and he went inside the tent to try if anything edible could be gathered together for lunch, a matter on which he said he had "graive doots."

Our new comrade, whom we had already begun to address as "Phil," quickly showed himself to be a very worthy addition to our party. After exploring the scrub for timber suitable for banking-up purposes, and drawing back a goodly load, he politely insisted on Mac taking a spell while he swung the pick. "I can see," he said diplomatically, "that you would soon work yourself to death out of sheer consideration for others."

"Dae ye think sae?" grunted he in the shaft cautiously, pausing in his labours.

"I do, indeed," reiterated Phil with much earnestness.

Then Mac laid down his weapon, and leaning back lazily in his excavation made further circuitous inquiry. "Ye've never dug holes afore, Phil?" said he; and receiving a negative answer, he supplemented, "An' ye ken that ironstane is a wee bit—weel, I'll say solid?"

"Yes, I can understand that much," admitted Phil wonderingly.

"Weel," continued Mac, lowering his voice, "I've come on a bed o' it the noo, an' I'm jist makin' the tap o't clean an' tidy fur Stewart when he comes. He thinks he can equal me at onything, an' I've got tae check that fause impreshun. Dae ye savy?"

"Mac," said Phil with decision, "he'll be a smart man that gets the better of you."

"I've traivelled a bit," returned the schemer shortly, "an' Stewart's sometimes ill tae pit up wi'. I'll gie ye a bonnie saft bit tae practeese on efterwards," he added after a pause.

A little later Stewart announced that he had got some rice and "tinned dog" cooked. "I houp ye'll excuse the rice," said he, "it's a bit podgy, fur there wis vera little watter tae bile it in."

"Ye're looking rale worried-like, Stewart," said Mac sympathetically, as he gulped down his portion of the roasted grains. "It's exerceese ye're needin', I'm thinkin'."

"Mebbe it is," sighed Stewart dolorously.

"Weel," spoke Mac again, "ye can try an' wear doon the shaft a bit in the efternoon, an' me an' Phil 'll gang into the city an' get some tasty bits o' provisions. I'm vera concerned aboot ye, ma man."

It was indeed very necessary that we should obtain supplies without delay, for our stores consisted only of the remnants carried so hurriedly from our previous camp. Already, the first flush of excitement having died away, representatives from the different claims were hurrying towards the township on a similar mission. Enthusiasm and an empty stomach seldom agree. But here a difficulty arose. Phil's wardrobe was painfully small; his once spotless shirt was now yellow with sand, and almost torn into shreds, and the rest of his limited apparel was in such a state of disrepair, owing to his scramble through the brush, that, as Mac said, he looked "hardly respeectable."

"Ye can hae ma jecket," said Stewart magnanimously, "seein' that it wis on ma account ye pit aff the tailie coat."

Phil accepted the offer promptly. "There's a wonderful change in my appearance since I left the Old Country a few short weeks ago," said he, surveying his dilapidated garb ruefully.

"I shid think sae," grinned Mac. "It wud be a rale treat tae see ye walk doon Peecadeely in they claes." And they departed.

"Dae ye tell me that Mac has gaun doon five fit?" asked Stewart, when we were alone.

"I believe he has," I replied, "but in this country it is easy to dig near the surface where the sand has not even solidified."

"Easy or no' easy," responded Stewart impressively, baring his strong right arm, "what Mac can dae, I'll dae. Wha pu'd harder than I did gaun tae Klonduk?" he demanded, making a digression, but I waived the question.

"Let me know when you have had enough of the shaft," I said, "and I'll relieve you."

"Umph!" he grunted, ignoring my remark in turn, "Five feet! Whaur's the pick?" And he strode off to emulate his comrade's achievement.

A few moments later a series of sharp metallic echoes issued from the shaft mouth, intimating that Stewart had attacked a hard unyielding substance. Then, not wishing to be present when he desisted from his labours, I made my way stealthily to the adjoining claim and entered into conversation with its owner; but still the unsympathetic ring of steel meeting some kindred element reached my ears, and I sorrowed for the unfortunate Stewart right deeply.

The wiry sandgroper whom I interviewed was not one of the bustling kind. I found him enjoying a siesta under the scant shade of the solitary mulga bush on his domain, and scaring the numberless flies away by his vigorous snores. It was almost impossible to realise that he was the valiant runner of the day before. "Mornin', mate," said he, rubbing his eyes, after I had hustled him gently. It was late afternoon, but that was a small matter, and I did not trouble to correct him; and we talked together on mining subjects for about an hour.

"I ain't wan o' them cusses," he said, "that tries to git disappinted early. My tactics is: git thar in the fust place—at which you'll allow I is no slouch, nuther?" I made the necessary allowance, and he proceeded. "In the second place, thar ain't no call to be desp'rit'ly excited; thishyer life won't change worse'n a muskitter whether we does git to bottom on a spec. three or four days sooner or later." I ventured to remark that his reasonings did him credit. "I does philosophise a bit, mate," he agreed languidly. Then there followed a long silence, during which I missed the regular thuds of Stewart's pick, and wondered where that persistent gentleman had gone.

Suddenly a noise as of thunder startled me; it was succeeded by an explosion that shook the ground under our feet. "By the Great Howlin' Billy!" ejaculated my leather-skinned companion, "somebody's fired your shaft." I looked in time to see great boulders of jagged ironstone, and a dense volume of sand, hurled from the mouth of the narrow pit where Stewart had been working.

Filled with a vague fear I rushed to the scene of the disturbance, where the sand-clouds were fast settling, and just as I arrived I beheld Stewart calmly coming out towards me from behind Phil's timber pile, where he had been sheltered. My surprise was so great that for the moment speech failed me, and I looked vacantly at the shaft and at my companion in turn. Then he took pity on me, and condescended to explain.

"It's a' richt. I'm nae pheenix," he announced cheerfully, and he led me to the mouth of the shaft, which no longer retained its oblong contour, but was ragged and rent with the upheaval. "I wis lookin' fur ye aboot an hour since," he continued further, "tae get yer opeenion concernin' a sort o' irin furmashun what wis gi'en me sair trouble, bit as I could'na see ye, I kent ye could rely on ma guid jidgement tae dae what I thocht best——"

"But I was not aware that we had any gelignite or giant powder in our possession," I interrupted.

"Nae mair we had," said he, "bit I kept ane or twa extra speecial cartreedges what we used fur burstin' glashiers oot in Alaskie—as samples, ye ken—an' I pit them a' in. They've made a vera bonnie hole," he wound up; "that's the best o' they labour-savin' devices."

On examination it was found that the ironstone bar had been completely shattered, and little trouble was experienced in removing the remaining fragments. The cavity wherein it had rested was fully five feet deep, so that Mac's plot for outwitting his rival had proved a signal failure.

It was six o'clock when we descried Mac and Phil returning from Kalgoorlie, laden with stores; darkness was rapidly closing over the valley, so that their forms could not be distinguished until they were quite close. Then Stewart uttered a howl of rage. "They've brocht back the tailie coat," he cried feebly, and in strutted Mac, wearing not only that hateful garment, but also having perched on his head at a rakish tilt a highly-burnished silk hat.

"We fund the hat a wee bit faurer on than the coatie," said he, doffing his glossy headgear and gazing at it admiringly.

"If ye've ony regaird fur ma feelin's, ye'll pit them baith awa' at aince," Stewart implored, much affected.

His compatriot gazed at him commiseratingly. "Ye've been workin' ow'er hard the day, ma man," said he, "yer nerves are in a gey bad state, I'm thinkin'. Hoosomever," he added sternly after brief thought, "it's ongratefu' on your pairt tae despise the gairment, fur I promised Phil that ye shid hae it, purvided ye had sunk aboot three feet the day. Which," he climaxed, nonchalantly, "I hae nae doot ye hae dune?"

Stewart beamed. "I apologeese, Mac," he said, "noo gie me the coatie."

"Hoo muckle hae ye sunk?" demanded the generous giver, much taken aback.

"Full five feet," came the smiling answer. "Mac, ma vera dear freen, ye've made a ser'us mistak' this time."

Mac stood as if transfixed, gazing appealingly at Phil, who seemed equally amazed; then he turned without a word and rushed out to the shaft. When he came back a moment later, he stripped off the coat and handed it to Stewart. "I'm prood o' ye, ma man," he said with an effort; "ye're an indiveedual o' muckle strategy."

Then Phil joined in with commendable tact. "You've still got the hat, Mac," laughed he, "it's a fair divide."

Stewart finds the ground hard.