Lucy

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3. Lucy's Gold Mine



The other children strolled leisurely along toward a place that looked like a long strip of sand.

"A sand beach," said Kyzie.

"No," said Nate; "it isn't a beach and it isn't sand."

"What can you mean? What else is it, pray?"

She stooped and took up a handful of something that certainly looked like sand. The others did the same.

"What do you call that?" they all asked, as they sifted it through their fingers.

Nate smiled in a superior way.

"Well, I don't call it sand, because it isn't sand. I thought it was when I first saw it; I got cheated, same as you. But there's no sand to it; it's just tailings."

"What in the world is tailings?" asked Kyzie, taking up another handful and looking it over very carefully. Strange if she, a girl in her teens, couldn't tell sand when she saw it! But she politely refrained from making any more remarks, and waited for Nate to answer her question. He was an intelligent boy, between eleven and twelve.

"Well, tailings are just powdered rocks," said Nate.

"Powdered rocks? Who powdered them? What for?" asked Edith.

"Why, the miners did it years ago. They ground up the rocks in the mine into powder just as fine as they could, and then washed the powder to get the gold out."

"Oh, I see," said Edith. "So these tailings are what's left after the gold's washed out."

"Yes, they brought 'em and spread 'em 'round here to get rid of 'em I suppose."

"Is the gold all washed out, every bit?" asked Jimmy. "Seems as if I could see a little shine to it now."

"Well, they got out all they could. There may be a little dust of it left though. Mr. Templeton says the folks in 'Frisco that own the mine think there's some left, and the tailings ought to be sent to San Diego and worked over."

Jimmy took up another handful. Yes, there was a faint shine to it; it began to look precious.

"Well, there's a heap of it anyway. It goes ever so far down," said he, thrusting in a stick.

"It's from ten to twelve feet deep," replied Nate, proud of his knowledge; "and see how long and wide!"

"I don't see how they ever ground up rocks so fine," said Kyzie. "Exactly like sand. And it stretches out so far that you'd think 'twas a sand beach by the sea,--only there isn't any sea."

"Well, it's just as good as a beach anyway," said Nate. "Just as good for picnics and the like of that. When there's anything going on, they get out the brass band and have fireworks and bring chairs and benches and sit round here. I tell you it's great!"

"There are lots of benches here now," remarked Edith. "And what's that long wooden thing?"

"That's a staging. That's where they have the brass band sit; that's where they send up the fireworks."

"Oh, I hope they'll have fireworks while we're here, and picnics."

"Of course they will. They're always having 'em. And I heard somebody say they're talking of a barbecue."

Edith clapped her hands. She did not know what a barbecue might be, but it sounded wild and jolly.

"What a long stretch of mud-puddle right here by the tailings," said Kyzie.

Nate laughed. "It is a damp spot, that's a fact!"

They all wondered what he was laughing at. "I guess there used to be water here once," said Jimmy at a venture. "There's water here now standing round in spots. And,--why, it's fishes;"

Lucy stooped all of a sudden and picked up a dead fish.

"Ugh! I never caught a fish before!" But next moment she threw it away in disgust.

"How did dead fishes ever get into this mud-puddle?" queried Edith.

"Well, they used to live in it before it dried up," replied Nate. "Fact is, this is a lake;"

Everybody exclaimed in surprise; and Kyzie said:--

"It doesn't seem possible; but then things are so queer up here that you can believe almost anything."

"Really it is a lake. It's all right in the winter, and swells tremendously then; but this is a dry year, you know, and it's all dried up." Kyzie forgave the lake for drying up, but pitied the fishes. Edith thought Castle Cliff was "a funny place anyway."

"What little bits of houses! Did they dry up too?"

"Oh, those are just the cabins and bunk-houses that were built for the miners, ever so long ago when the mine was going. Fixed up into cottages now for summer boarders. Do you want to see the mine?"

They went around behind the shaft-house and beyond the old saw-mill.

"O my senses!" cried Edith, "is that the old gold mine, that monstrous great thing? Isn't it horrid?"

They all agreed that it was "perfectly awful and dreadful," and that it made you shudder to look into it; and that they were glad baby Eddo was safely out of the way. The mine was a deep, irregular chasm, full of dirty water and rocks. It had a hungry, cruel look; you could almost fancy it was waiting in wicked glee to swallow up thoughtless little children.

"It doesn't seem as if anybody could ever have dug for gold in that horrid ditch," exclaimed Kyzie.

"You'd better believe they did, though," said the young guide. "They used to get it out in nuggets, cart-loads of it."

He was not quite sure of the nuggets, but liked the sound of the word.

"Yes, cart-loads of it. I tell you 'twas the richest mine in the whole Cuyamaca Mountains."

"Too bad the gold gave out," said Kyzie, gazing regretfully into the watery depths.

"But it didn't give out! Why, there's gold enough left down there to buy up the whole United States! They lost the vein, that's all"

"The vein? What's a vein?" asked Edith.

"Well, you see," replied the guide, "gold goes along underground in streaks; they call it veins. The miners had to stop digging here because they lost track of the streak. But they'll find it again."

"How do you know?" asked Jimmy-boy, who thought Nate was putting on too many airs.

"Because Mr. Templeton said so. They've sent for Colonel Somebody from I--forget where. He's a splendid mining engineer, great for finding lost veins. He'll be here next week and bring a lot of men."

"Whoop-ee!" cried Jimmy, "he'll find the vein and things, and we'll be having gold as plenty as blackberries!"

"Just what I was talking about yesterday when you laughed," broke in Lucy. "I said I'd go down in a bucket; don't you know I did?"

Edith was gazing spellbound at the yawning chasm.

"Look at those rickety steps! The men will get killed! 'Twill all cave in!"

"No danger," said Nate, "there are walls down there, stone walls, papa says, that keep it all safe."

He meant "galleries," but had forgotten the word.

"Well, I don't care if there are five hundred stone walls, I guess the men could drown all the same!" said Edith. "That water ought to be let out, Nate Pollard! If the colonel is coming next week why don't they let out the water this very day and give the place a chance to dry off."

She spoke in a tone of the gravest anxiety, as if she understood the matter perfectly, and felt the whole care of the mine. Indeed, the mine had become suddenly very interesting to all the children. It certainly looked like a rough, wild, frightful hole; nothing more than a hole; but if there were gold down there in "nuggets," why, that was quite another matter; it became at once an enchanted hole; it was as delightful as a fairy story.

"I hope it's true that they've sent for that colonel," said Kyzie.

"Of course it's true," replied Nate, who did not like to have his word doubted.

"I s'pose there are buckets 'round here. Oh, aren't you glad we came to Castle Cliff?" said Lucy, pirouetting around Jimmy.

"Bab will be glad, too," she thought. For Lucy never could look forward to any pleasure without wishing her darling "niece" to share it with her.

"Well, I guess we've seen everything there is to see," remarked Nate, who had now told all he knew and was ready to go.

While they still wandered about, talking of "tailings" and "nuggets," they were startled by the peal of a bell.

"Twelve o'clock! Two minutes ahead of time though," said Nate, taking from his pocket a handsome gold watch which Jimmy had always admired.

"What bell is that? Where is it?" they all asked. "And what is it ringing for?"

"It's on top of the schoolhouse and it's ringing for noon. 'Twill ring again in the evening at nine o'clock. But I can tell 'em they ought to set it back two minutes."

"A nine o'clock bell? Why, that's a curfew bell! How romantic!" cried Kyzie. She had read of "the mellow lin-lan-lone of evening bells," but had never heard it. "Let's go to the schoolhouse."

As luncheon at the Templeton House would not be served for an hour yet, they kept on to the hollow where the schoolhouse stood. It was a small, unpainted building in the shade of three pine trees.

"Just wait a minute right here," said Edith, the young artist, unstrapping her kodak. "I want a snap-shot at it. Stand there by that tree, Jimmum. Put your foot out just so. I wish you were barefooted!"

Just then, as if they had overheard the wish, two little boys came running down the hill, and one of them was barefooted. Moreover, when Kyzie asked if they would stand for a picture, they consented at once.

"My name's Joseph Rolfe," said the elder, twitching off his hat, "and his name,"--pointing to his companion with a chuckle,--"his name is Chicken Little."

"No such a thing! Now you quit!" retorted the younger lad in a choked voice, digging his toes into the dirt, "quit a-plaguing me! My name's Henry Small and you know it!"

While Edith was busy taking their photographs, Kyzie thanked the urchins very pleasantly. They both gazed at her with admiration.

"See here," said Joe Rolfe, twitching off his hat again very respectfully, "Are you going to keep school in the schoolhouse? I wish you would!"

At this remarkable speech Jimmy and Edith fell to laughing; but Kyzie only blushed a little, and smiled. How very grown-up she must seem to Joe if he could think of her as a teacher! She was now a tall girl of fourteen, with a fine strong face and an earnest manner. She was beginning to tire of being classed among little girls, and it was delightful to find herself looked upon for the first time in her life as a young lady. But she only said:--

"Oh, no, Joe, people don't teach school in summer! Summer is vacation."

"Well, but they do sometimes," persisted Joe; "there was a girl kep' this school last summer. She called it 'vacation school.' But we didn't like her; she licked like fury."

"So she did," echoed Chicken Little, "licked and pulled ears. Kep' a stick on the desk."

And with these last words both the little boys took their leave, running up hill with great speed, as if they thought that standing for a picture had been a great waste of time.

"That Chicken boy is the biggest cry-baby," said Nate. "The boys like to plague him to see him cry. Joe Rolfe has some sense."

As the little party walked on, Miss Katharine turned her head more than once for another look at the schoolhouse.

"Wouldn't it be fun, Edy, to teach school in there and ring that 'lin-lan-lone bell' to call in the scholars? I'd make you study botany harder'n you ever did before."

"No, thank you, Miss Dunlee," replied Edith, courtesying. "You'll not get me to worrying over botany. I studied it a month once, but when I go up in the mountains I go to have a good time."

She pursed her pretty mouth as she spoke. Her sister Katharine was by far the best botanist in her class, and was always tearing up flowers in the most wasteful manner. Worse than that, she expected Edith to do the same thing and learn the hard names of the poor little withered pieces.

"You don't love flowers as well as I do, Kyzie, or you couldn't abuse them so!"

This is what she often said to her learned sister after Kyzie had made "a little preach" about the beauties of botany.

As they entered the hotel for luncheon, Kyzie was still thinking of the schoolhouse and the sweet-toned bell and the singular speech of Joe Rolfe, about wanting her for a teacher. What came of these thoughts you shall hear later on.

"Well, I declare, I forgot all about that zebra kitty," said Edith. "What will the knitting-woman think of such actions?"