The seemed to have almost as difficult a time, for the wagons, their heavy brake-shoes smoking and their dragged behind, them in dust, threatened to run over the teams.
But it was a stirring scene, although whether any of the people coming down were bringing gold could not be learned amidst such racket and confusion.
Part way up another friend was encountered. He was the wheel-barrow man, halted to breathe so as to be able to push his barrow to the next resting place.
"Tough sledding," he , as he sat upon his barrow handles and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. "Wust yet, but I'm bound to get there."
They left the wheel-barrow man behind. At every turn they expected to see the summit beyond, but the climb required over an hour and a half of steady work.
Here, on the top, they were high above Table Mountain.
"Whew!" . The top was flat, and they drew aside, while they rested. Everybody halted here to rest. It was a fine view. Down below, whence they had come, was the trail, with other outfits zig-zagging up; and farther was the trail along Clear , and farther, the Platte River; and farther, the plains, and Cherry Creek, and Denver and Auraria, all wonderfully sharp in the air. The people at the foot of the trail and beyond looked like pigmies, and the wagons like toys.
Before, the trail stretched across the mountain top and appeared to aim straight into a tremendous wild country of much higher mountains, timbered with and capped with snow.
The gold-seeker companies were again starting on.
"Do we reach Gregory today?" inquired Harry, of a returning party.
"No, sir; not by a long shot. 'Tisn't any use, anyhow. Every foot of ground is taken up. There are two thousand people in that gulch already, and the same in the other . The Gregory folks have the best claims. Nothing left for us later comers."
The trail continued to follow a high , amidst pines and bright flowers and grass; crossed icy cold streams where the ridge dipped; and by night had arrived nowhere in particular. So camp was made, the pleasantest camp of the whole trip from the Big Blue valley, because the air was so fresh and pure, and the water and wood abundant, and the grass so sweet for Jenny.
"I reckon we're getting into the Promised Land," hazarded one of the Extra Limited's neighbors.
The next noon the mountain divide seemed to have been crossed; for at one side, far down, was Clear Creek again, like a silver thread traversing a dark seam that was a . About two miles ahead it divided, and over the north branch hung a thin bluish film of smoke. The sounds of ax and hammer and ringing pick—yes, the faint sound of voices—drifted up.
Gregory Gulch? That must be it, under the smoke, for the procession was hastening, and presently down, down, down they all , for the bottom where the north branch of the creek . This trail was as steep as the trail on the east slope. The wagons used boughs as drags; oxen and horses held back hard; and Jenny, her forefeet, slid and pitched and . Faster and faster they all moved—could not stop—until in twenty minutes they fairly tumbled, one after another, into the water and the mouth of Gregory Gulch!
"Well, I should say she was crowded!" exclaimed Harry.
He and Terry gazed, consternated. Gregory Gulch extended from the North Clear Creek; it was narrow and quite long, and all up and down the creek and as far as eye could see up the gulch, people were like bees, while the newly arrived gold-seekers looked on, bewildered.
Tents had been , cabins were rising, lean-tos served as other shelters; men were with spades, washing out the dirt in their pans, or dumping dirt and water into wooden boxes that rocked like cradles; and other men were searching the bottoms and slopes for vacant spots and there hurriedly driving in stakes. A few women were in sight—one woman was her husband dig; several were sitting in or trying to tidy their .
No wonder that the newly arrived people were bewildered. Some grew gloomy at once and discouraged, but some waxed the more excited.
"First thing is to find a camping spot," proposed Harry, briskly. "And then to find our mine."
"How'll we find it?" asked Terry. "Where is the gold? I don't see any."
"This is Gregory gulch, is it?" Harry, of the nearest miner—a red-headed, red-stubbled little man in mud to his ankles beside a stream, and twirling a gold-pan. He was muddied all over his trousers and red shirt, and also to his elbows.
"It is; at laste it's the Gregory diggin's." He with a strong Irish brogue.
"Have you found lots of gold?" invited Terry.
"Oi? Not a cint, b'gorry—an' here's another empty pan." As if in disgust the little man straightened up and surveyed them. "But that's not sayin' Oi won't. Oi've got a foine claim right under me feet. Did yez jist get in? Would yez like to buy a nice claim?" He eyed them shrewdly with his twinkling eyes set in his grimy, sweaty face.
"Not yet, thank you," responded Harry. "Where's the gold?"
"Gold? Faith, all yez got to do is foind it. Sure, ain't it here in Gregory gulch, an' don't yez see all the people diggin'? Didn't Gregory an' five men take out $972 in week from their , an' sell for $2,100 an' lend the men who bought it $200 so they could go ahead?"
"Where are they? Where is that vein?"
"Up yonder on the side o' the gulch; but yez can't get annywhere near it, for the people an' the stakes. They don't want visitors. Jist drive your stakes where yez can, an' begin work. My name's Pat Casey. What might yez be called?"
They told him.
"Well, Oi'll see yez ag'in, boys," promised Pat, grasping his spade to refill his pan. "Who knows but in a few days we'll all be rich together?"
"All right, Pat," laughed Harry. So they left Pat engaged with his spade, hoping to strike it with the next pan full.
They along, eyes alert for a camping spot. A tent bore the sign: "Groceries for Sail." Another was announced as "Miners' Hotel"—although where it slept its guests was a problem. Another tent, through the flaps of which might be glimpsed a woman, stated: "Back East Biscuits."
Dinner of course was a hurried affair. Other gold-seekers were still descending the hill and spreading out wherever they could. So no time was to be lost. They each on a gold-pan by means of a tied through a hole in the ; and with pick and spade (Shep staying to mount guard) they sallied .
"I reckon," Harry, "we'll have to do like the rest do: about and whenever we see a goldish-looking spot, try it out."
"Dad showed us how to work a gold pan. I don't suppose we've forgotten," panted Terry, as they .
"Yes, but he didn't show us how to find the gold," reminded Harry. "We ought to locate near water."
For an hour they up and down, and never sunk a spade or tried a pan. All the creek and all the side streams seemed occupied. Once they halted and were just about to dig, when a voice : "Get off my ground!"
"Excuse me," apologized Harry. The owner of the voice was some distance away. "Is this your claim?"
"You bet you! The best claim in the diggin's."
"How big is a claim?" demanded Harry.
"Well, a hundred feet by fifty and as much more as I can get. Now vamoose."
They "vamoosed."
"Two thousand people, claiming a hundred feet and as much more as they can get, doesn't leave much room for the rest of us," sighed Harry.
"Hello, there!" hailed another voice, more cheery. It was the "Root
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CHAPTER X FORWARD MARCH TO GREGORY GULCH
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CHAPTER XII PANNING THE "GOLDEN PRIZE"
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