We should all have liked to start right in digging, but Bagsby strenuously opposed this.

“You-all have a rich diggings yere,” said he; “and you want to stay a while and git the most there is out of them. And if you’re going to do that, you’ve got to get a good ready. You’ve got make a decent camp, and a stockade for the hosses at night; and if you want yore grub to last you more than a month there’s got to be some reg’lar hunting and fishing done.”

“That’ll take a week!” cried Johnny impatiently.

“Or more,” agreed Bagsby with entire complacence. “You can bull at it and go to t’aring up the scenery if you want to; but you won’t last long.”

Unpalatable as this advice seemed, with all the loose gold lying about, we ended by adopting it. Indeed, we added slightly to our self-imposed tasks by determining on the construction of cradles. Yank had figured out a scheme having to do with hollowed logs and canvas with cleats that would obviate the need of lumber. We deputed Johnny to help him. Bagsby and Vasquez were to hunt and fish for the general benefit, while the rest of us put up a stockade, or corral, and erected a cabin.

I must confess the labour was pleasant. We had plenty 217 of axes, and four of us were skilled in their use. Personally I like nothing better than the exercise of swinging a keen blade, the feeling of skillful accuracy and of nicely adjusted effort. We felled dozens, hundreds, of tall young pines eight inches to a foot in diameter, and planted them upright in a trench to form a stockade. Then we ran up a rough sort of cabin of two rooms. Yank, somewhat hampered by Johnny, finished his cradles, and turned in to help us. Bagsby and Vasquez brought in several deer and an elk, and trapped many quail and hares. We fared royally, worked healthfully in the shade of our trees, and enjoyed huge smokes and powwows around our fire of an evening. Every night we drove the horses within the enclosure; and slept heavily.

Always in the background of consciousness lay the gold, the incredibly abundant gold. It coloured our dreams, it gilded our labour. As we drew to the end of our construction work, I really believe we experienced a slight, a very slight, feeling of regret that this fine flavour of anticipation was so nearly at an end. However, I noticed that though we completed the house at three of the afternoon, we none of us showed any disposition to wait for the morrow. We promptly lugged one of Yank’s log cradles to the border of the stream and put in two hours washing.

The results were most encouraging, for we gained in that short time nearly two ounces of flake gold.

That evening we reviewed our situation carefully. The older heads of the party–Yank, Bagsby, Don Gaspar, and Missouri Jones–overruled our young desire to jump into things headlong.

218“If this camp is going to get on right,” said Yank, “we got to make some provision for working right. Somebody’s got to be in camp all the time, that’s sure–to cook some decent meals, do the odd chores, and keep an eye on the stock.” Bagsby nodded emphatically at this. “And somebody’s got to rustle game and fish. Yere’s nine husky men to eat. If we leave one man in camp and two to hunt, we have six left for gold washing. That’s three to a cradle, and that’s just right.”

We came to that, too; and so settled into our routine. Bagsby was the only permanent office-holder among us. He was unanimously elected the official hunter. The rest of us agreed to take turn about at the other jobs. It was further agreed to increase our chances by utilizing the cradles at two totally different kinds of diggings. One we located on the bar to wash out the shingle. The other we carried to a point opposite the dry ravine in which I had found my three little nuggets.

Don Gaspar had worked like a nailer at the construction although he was utterly unskilled. Now at the end of the week he was worn out, although he stoutly maintained he was as good as ever. This high-bred, energetic gentleman we had all come to admire, both for his unfailing courtesy and his uncomplaining acceptance of hardships to which evidently he had never been accustomed. Exactly why he underwent the terrible exertions incidental to gold finding I have never quite fathomed. I do not believe he needed money; and I never saw one of his race fond of hard physical work. Indeed, he was the only member of his class I ever met who would work. The truth of the matter probably 219 lies somewhere between an outcropping of the old adventurous conquistadore spirit and the fascination of the golden metal itself, quite apart from its dollars-and-cents value. Unanimously we voted in Don Gaspar as camp keeper for the first week. We wanted to give him a rest; but I do not think we pleased him. However, he bowed to our decision with his usual gracious courtesy. As hunting companion for Bagsby we appointed Missouri Jones, with the understanding that every two days that office was to have a new incumbent. Johnny, McNally, and I took charge of the dry wash, and the rest of the party tackled the bar. Of course we all–except Bagsby–were to share equally.

Unless the wash should prove very productive we would have the worst end of it, for we had to carry the pay dirt down to the stream’s edge. For the purpose we used the pack-sacks–or alforjas, as the Spaniards call them. Each held about sixty or seventy pounds of dirt. We found this a sweaty and stumbly task–to stagger over the water-smoothed boulders of the wash, out across the shingle to the edge of the stream. There one of us dumped his burden into the cradle; and we proceeded to wash it out. We got the “colour” at once in the residuary black sand.

All morning we laboured manfully, and discovered a brand new set of muscles. By comparison our former toil of mere digging and washing seemed light and pleasurable exercise.

“If this stuff don’t run pretty high,” grunted McNally, wiping the sweat from his eyes, “it’s me voting for the bar. We can’t stand all day of this.”

220He heaved the contents of his pack-sack into the cradle, and shook it disgustedly. Suddenly his jaw dropped and his eye widened with so poignant an expression that we both begged him, in alarm, to tell us what was the matter.

“Now, will you look at that!” he cried.

We followed the direction of his gaze, but saw only the meadow, and the horses feeding in it, and the thin smoke beyond, where Don Gaspar was bending his proud Castilian spirit to attend to fried steak and flapjacks.

“Look at those horses!” cried McNally with growing indignation.

“What’s the matter with them?” cried Johnny and I in a breath.

“Matter with them! Nothing!” cried McNally with comical disgust. “The matter’s with us.” He rapped his knuckles on his head. “Solid, all the way through!” said he. “Why, save from nat’ral born human imbelicity, should horses be living like gentlemen while gentlemen are working like horses!”

We took the hint. That afternoon we saddled the pack-horses and led them, laden with the dirt, back and forth between the ravine and the cradle.

All of us worked until rather later in the day than usual.... The hunters, too, did not return until dark. We weighed the results of our labour with eager interest. From our cradle we had taken eleven ounces, while those working the bar had gained just over nine. That was a good day’s work, and we were much elated.

“And most any time,” exulted Johnny, “we’ll run into a big pocket with thousands.”