The Pike's Peak Rush; Or, Terry in the New Gold Fields Read online

  CHAPTER I

  TO THE MOUNTAINS OF GOLD

  "Twenty-five thousand people--and more on the way! Think of that!"exclaimed Mr. Richards, Terry's father.

  It was an evening in early April, 1859, and spring had come to theRichards ranch, up the Valley of the Big Blue, Kansas Territory.Excitement had come, too, for Harry (Harry Revere, that is, the clever,boyish Virginia school-teacher who was a regular member of the family)had been down to the town of Manhattan, south on the Kansas River andthe emigrant trail there, and had brought back some Kansas City and St.Louis papers. They were brimming with the news of a tremendous throng ofgold-seekers swarming to cross the plains for the new gold fields,discovered only last year, in the Pike's Peak country of the RockyMountains.

  "Do you suppose it's true, Ralph? So many?" appealed Mrs. Richards,doubting.

  "Whew!" gasped Terry--the third man in the family. At least, he workedas hard as any man.

  "I believe it," asserted Harry. "Manhattan's jammed and the trail inboth directions is a sight!"

  "So are Kansas City and Leavenworth, according to the dispatches,"laughed Terry's father. "People from the east are flocking across Iowa,to the Missouri River, and the steamboats up from St. Louis are loadedto the guards--everybody bound for the Pike's Peak country and theCherry Creek diggin's there. It beats the California rush of Forty-nineand Fifty."

  "But twenty-five thousand, Ralph!" Mother Richards protested.

  "Yes, and the papers say there'll be a hundred thousand before summer'sover."

  "Oh, Pa! Can't we go?" pleaded Terry.

  "And quit the ranch?"

  "But if we don't go now all the gold will be found."

  "I think it would be sinful to leave this good ranch and go clear outthere, with nothing certain," voiced his mother, anxiously. "You know italmost killed your father. He'd never have got home, if it hadn't beenfor you."

  "That was when he was coming back, and we wouldn't need to come back,"argued Terry. "And he fetched some gold, too, didn't he?"

  "And hasn't recovered yet!" triumphed Mother Richards. "He couldn'tpossibly stand another long overland trip--and I don't want to stand it,either. Why, we're just nicely settled, all together again, on our ownfarm."

  "Well, some of us ought to go," persisted Terry. "I'd a heap rather diggold than plant it.'

  "I notice you aren't extra fond of digging potatoes, though," slilyremarked Harry. "You say it makes your back ache!"

  "Digging gold's different," retorted Terry. "Besides, we've a gold minealready, haven't we? The one dad discovered. If we don't get there soonsomebody else will dig everything out of it and we'll have only a hole."

  "That will be a cellar for us, anyway, to put a house over," musedHarry, who always saw opportunities.

  "I don't lay much store on that claim of mine," confessed Terry'sfather. "The country'll be over-run, and if the spot was worth anythingit's probably jumped, or will be jumped very quickly. And I don'tremember where it is."

  "But what a rush!" faltered Mrs. Richards, glancing through the paper."The news does say twenty-five thousand people about to cross the plainsand more coming. I do declare! I'm sure some of them will sufferdreadfully."

  "Yes; they'll earn their way, all right," agreed Father Richards. "It'sa tough region, yonder at the mountains--and the more people, thetighter the living, till they raise other crops than gold."

  "Then that's the reason why we ought to be starting--so as to get inahead," persisted Terry. "This ranching's awful slow, and it's toler'blehard work, too. Putting stuff in and taking it out again."

  "You can't expect to 'take stuff out' unless you do put some in, first,can you?" demanded his father. "That's the law of life. But if you thinkyou can dodge hard work, go on and try."

  "Where?" blurted Terry.

  "Anywhere. To the Pike's Peak country. You have my permission." And hisfather's blue eyes twinkled.

  "Oh, Ralph!" protested Terry's mother, aghast. "Don't joke about it."

  "Aw, I can't go alone," stammered Terry, taken aback.

  "I'm not joking," asserted Father Richards. "But he'll have to find hisown outfit, like other gold-seekers. Then he can go, and we'll followwhen we can."

  Mother Richards dropped the paper.

  "Ralph! Have you the fever again? Oh, dear!"

  Gold-fever she meant, of course. Father Richards smiled, and rubbed hishair where it showed a white streak over the wound received when ontheir road out from the Missouri River, a year ago, to settle on theranch, he had been knocked off his horse in fording Wildcat Creek, andhad disappeared for months. Only by great good fortune had Terry foundhim, wandering in, through a blizzard, from the Pike's Peak gold fields;and had brought him home in time for a merry Christmas.

  "Not 'again.' Don't know as I'd call it gold-fever, exactly. But I feela bit like Terry does--I want to join the crowd. It was the same way, incoming to Kansas. We thought this was to be the West; and now there'sanother West. This ranch can be made to pay--I'm certain it can if we'reable to hold on long enough and weather the droughts and grasshoppersand low prices. But----"

  "Harry and Terry and I made it pay," reminded Mother Richards, with aflash of pride.

  "Yes, you all did bravely. But you managed it by cutting and selling thetimber. The timber won't last forever, and the grasshoppers may! This israther a lonely life, for you, yet, up in here. Out at the mountains,though, they've founded those two towns, Denver and Auraria, andprobably others; and I believe opportunities will be more there thanhere."

  "Do you intend to sell the ranch?" asked Mrs. Richards, a little pale.She loved the ranch, which she had helped to make.

  "We'll talk that over. I wouldn't sell unless you consented. It's yourplace; you and Terry and Harry've done most of the work."

  "But you said I could go right away, Pa; didn't you?" enthused Terry."Then I'll take the wagon and Buck and Spot, and Shep--and Harry;and----"

  "Hold on," bade his father. "Not quite so fast. I said you're to findyour own outfit. If we sell the ranch, you'll have to leave part of itas a sample to show to customers. Those oxen are valuable. Oxen'll be asgood as gold, in this country. The rush across the plains will sweep upevery kind of work critter. If you take Buck and Spot, how'll anybody onthis ranch do the ploughing? And if you take the wagon, what'll becomeof the hauling?"

  "And if you take Harry, who'll help your father and me?" chimed in hismother.

  "Shucks!" bemoaned Terry. "There's the old mare, and the colt--and acow--and----"

  "And a half-buffalo, and a tame turkey, and a yellow mule twenty yearsof age if she's a day," completed his father. "Buck and Spot beat thelot of them put together. No, sir; I'll not spare those oxen, for anywild-goose chase across to the mountains. But I'll tell you what you cando. You can have Harry, and find the rest of your come-along."

  "Hum!" murmured Harry, who had been scratching his nose and lookingwise. "That sounds like a dare. Let's go outside, Terry."

  He rose. Terry wonderingly followed him. Within, Mother Richards gazeddubiously upon Father Richards.

  "Are you really in earnest, Ralph?"

  "Yes; after a fashion. Terry can't make such a trip alone; he's tooyoung; but he'd be safe with Harry. Enough cultivating's done on theranch so I can manage for the next few months. That would give you andme a chance to dispose of the place when we were ready--and it will sellbetter with the crops showing. And besides, I agree with you that I'mnot quite in shape yet to stand the trip. By the time we were free togo, those two boys would have the country yonder pretty well spied out,and they'd send us back reliable information. Harry has a level head."

  "And maybe they'd be so disappointed they'd want to come back,themselves!" hopefully asserted Mrs. Richards. "Terry'd be cured of hisgold-seeking fever. Anyway, they haven't gone, yet. They can't have theoxen, and they can't have my cow, and if they took the old mare how'd Iever visit my neighbors, and if they took the colt he's not heavy enoughfor hard work, and the yellow mule won't pull alone, and D
uke won't pullat all, and you've refused them the wagon--and I sha'n't let them walk.So I don't believe I'll worry."

  "Um--m!" muttered Father Richards, rubbing his hair. "I won't bepositive about all that. What Terry doesn't cook up, Harry will. They'reboth of them too uncommon smart. I reckon they're into some schemealready."

  And so they were. He resumed his reading of the papers. Mrs. Richardsproceeded to finish the evening housework. Suddenly they wereinterrupted. Outside welled a frantic chorus of shouting and cheeringand barking and clattering.

  "For goodness' sake!" ejaculated Mrs. Richards; and they sprang to thedoor.

  Harry, who walked with a slight limp because when a boy down in Virginiahe had hurt his foot, had beckoned Terry on, around the hen-house, outof ear-shot of the cabin. Here he had paused, and scratched his longnose again--a sure sign of mischief. Slender and smooth-faced and youngwas Harry, but stronger than anybody'd think. The way he could ridebareback, and could fell timber--whew! And that long head of his was amine in itself.

  "Shall we go?" he queried.

  "Will you, Harry? Do you want to go?"

  "Yes, I reckon I do. I always knew I was cut out for a miner instead ofa schoolmaster or a farmer."

  "How'll we go, then?" demanded Terry. "Thunder! We've nothing to startwith, 'cept our feet. Dad says we'll have to find our own outfit."

  "And one of the feet's a bad one," commented Harry. "I suppose we_could_ walk, and carry our stuff--or carry part of it and come back forthe rest."

  "Five hundred miles?" cried Terry. "Aw, jiminy! We'd be the last in, ifwe tried to carry stuff on our backs."

  "And we'd be the first out, if we didn't carry stuff," returned Harry."We'd be frozen out and starved out, both. Now, let's see." He scratchedhis nose, and was solemn--save that his pointed chin twitched, and hiswide brown eyes laughed. "We can't have the oxen; and we mustn't takethe old mare or the colt, because they're a part of the ranch; or thebrindled cow, because she belongs to Mother Richards' butter and milkdepartment; or Pete the turkey, because he can't swim; so that leaves usJenny and Duke."

  "That old yellow mule, and a half-buffalo!" yapped Terry. "But they're apart of the ranch stock, too, and besides----"

  "No, they're ours," corrected Harry. "Jenny's mine, and I'm hers. Ibrought her in here--or, rather, she brought me in; in fact, we broughteach other. And Duke is yours. You rescued him from a life among thewild buffalo--a rough, low life, the ungrateful brute!--and his mother'sdisowned him since he learned to eat grass and hay, and nobody elsewants him. Jenny works for her keep, but he doesn't do a thing exceptbawl and eat and sleep and pick quarrels with his betters. He's only anidle good-for-nothing."

  "What do you aim to do, then?" questioned Terry, staring open-mouthed."Ride 'em? We can't have the wagon. You going to ride Jenny and make meride Duke? We'd both of us be split in two! I'd rather walk. I'd makegreat time, wouldn't I, on that buffalo--and Jenny mostly moves up anddown in one spot! Your saddle's falling to pieces. It's just tied withrope."

  "Hum!" mused Harry. "We'll hitch them."

  "What to?"

  "A wagon. I know where there are two wheels and an axle."

  "Where?"

  "In an old mud-hole. The front end traveled on, but the hind endstayed."

  "Jenny won't pull single, and Duke won't pull at all."

  "Make 'em pull together, then."

  "What'll we do for the rest of the wagon?"

  "Make it."

  "Huh!" reflected Terry, trying to be convinced. "That'll be a greatoutfit. Where'll we get our supplies?"

  "Maybe somebody'll grub-stake us, on shares. But no matter about that.We'll learn not to eat when we haven't anything to eat. If," continuedHarry, "a couple of fellows our size, with a yellow mule and ahalf-buffalo and two wagon-wheels, can't get through to the mountains,I'd like to know who can! So it's high time we started. Come on."

  "What are you going to do first?" demanded Terry, bewildered by Harry'ssudden movement.

  "Educate Duke, of course. We'll put him and Jenny to the drag and givethem their first lesson. You be driving Duke in and I'll talk withJenny."

  Away hustled Harry, at his rapid limp, for a halter and Jenny, where ina stall she was munching a feed of hay as reward after her trip to town.With the interested Shep (shaggy black dog) at his heels, prepared tohelp, Terry hastened into the pasture and rounded up Duke, thehalf-buffalo, from amidst the other animals. Duke was now ayearling--grown to be a sturdy, stocky youngster since Terry hadcaptured him and his brindled cow mother during the buffalo hunt withthe Delaware Indians last summer.

  Knowing Terry well, and tamed to everything except work, Duke submittedto being driven out. In the ranch yard Harry was waiting with big, gauntJenny, already attached by collar and traces to the drag. The drag wasonly an old rail, heavy and spike-studded, used to uproot the brush whenthe ranch land was cleared.

  It required considerable maneuvering to fit an ox-bow around Duke'sshort neck, and yoke him to the drag. He seemed dumbly astonished. Jennylaid back her long ears in disgust with her strange mate.

  "Be patient with him, Jenny," pleaded Harry. "He's only a boy, and partIndian, while you're a cultured lady. I think," he said, to Terry, "thatI'll do the driving, for the first spell on this Pike's Peak trail."Holding the lines attached to Jenny's bit (but Duke, ox-fashion, had nolines), he fell a few paces to rear. "No," he added, "that won't answer.You drive Duke and I'll drive Jenny. Get your whip."

  Terry stationed himself with the ox-whip at Duke's flank. Harry steppedupon the drag, and balanced.

  "Gid-dap, Jenny!" he bade.

  "G'lang, Duke!" bade Terry.

  Jenny, sidling as far as she could in the traces, her ears flat,started. Duke stayed. Consequently, Jenny did not get very far.

  "Duke! G'lang, Duke!" implored Terry, desperately, cracking his whip.

  "Pull, Jenny! Pull!" encouraged Harry, balancing on the drag now askew.

  Up went Jenny's heels, down went Duke's head, away went Harry on thedrag and Terry on the run. Shep, thinking it great sport, barked gaily.

  "Whoa, Jenny! Whoa now!"

  "Haw, Duke! Whoa-haw! Gee! Whoa!"

  And from the cabin doorway Father Richards clapped and shouted, andMother Richards called warnings.

  Harry was speedily thrown from the bouncing drag, but he clung to thelines. Having careered, plunging and tugging and side-stepping, untilshe was astraddle of the outside trace, Jenny stopped. Duke, who hadbeen bawling and galloping, half hauled, half frightened, stoppedlikewise, the yoke crooked on his neck; and all stood heaving.

  "This'll never do," panted Harry. "Jenny's too fast for him--either herlegs are too long or his are too short. We'll have to train them singlyand hitch them tandem. That's it: tandem."

  "You mean one in front of the other?" wheezed Terry.

  "Yes."

  "Which where, then?"

  "Oh, Jenny for the wheel team and Duke for the lead team, I think,"decided Harry. "By rights, Jenny ought to have the lead, because she'sfaster; and Duke ought to have the pole, because he's heavier. But Jennyis quick-tempered with her heels, you know, and Duke is quick-temperedwith his head, so we'd best keep their tempers separated. We can teachDuke to 'haw' and 'gee,' but Jenny's main accomplishment is simply to'haw-haw.'"

  "Here comes George," announced Terry. "Now he'll 'haw-haw,' too."

  Through the gloaming another boy was loping in, on a spotted pony. Hewas a wiry, black-eyed boy--George Stanton, from the Stanton ranch sometwo miles down the valley.

  "Whoop-ee! Which way you going?" he challenged. "What is it--a show?"

  "Going to Pike's Peak," retorted Terry.

  "Tonight? With that team? Aw----!"

  "Pretty soon, though. We're practising."

  "Watch us, and you'll see us drive to the corral," invited Harry. "Let'sturn 'em around, Terry. Easy, now. I'll hold Jenny back and you hurryDuke."

  "I'll help," proffered the obliging George. "Gwan, Duke."

  "Duke! Gwan!"
ordered Terry.

  "Whoa, Jenny! Steady, Jenny!" cautioned Harry.

  With Harry hauling on the lines, George, pony-back, pressing againstDuke's shoulder, and Terry urging him at the flank, they all managed toachieve a half circle. Duke, his eyes bulging with rage and alarm,occasionally balked; Jenny flattened her ears and shook her scarredhead; but finally the corral bars were really reached. It seemed likequite a victory.

  "First lesson ended," decreed Harry. "Too dark, and we're tired if theyaren't. We'll put 'em in together and they can talk it over."

  Released into the corral, neither Jenny nor Duke appeared to be in verygood humor. Duke rumbled and pawed, flinging the dirt; Jenny laid herears and bared her teeth. Suddenly Duke charged; whereat Jenny nimblywhirled, and met him with both hind hoofs. Aside staggered Duke, tostand a moment, glaring at her and rumbling; then he turned and stalkedstiffly to the other end of the enclosure. Jenny "hee-hawed" shrill andderisive, and kneeling down, rolled and kicked; scrambled up, shookherself, and began to nose about for husks.

  "Now they understand each other," remarked Harry. "They've agreed topull singly."

  "Say--are you fellows really going to Pike's Peak?" asked George. "Withthat team?"

  "Yes, sir-ee. We're in training, aren't we, Terry?" responded Harry.

  "That's right. Dad said if we'd find our own outfit we could strikeout."

  "We've got the fever, too, sort of, down at our house," confessedGeorge. "That's what I rode up about. Now I guess I'd better go back andtell the folks. Maybe I can join you," he added, waxing excited.

  "The more the merrier. That will make twenty-five thousand and three,"laughed Harry.

  "If I can't, I'll be coming later," called back George.

  "We'll locate a claim for you," promised Terry, grandly--as if he andHarry were already on the way.