Joan saw that she stood high up on the slope, looking down upon the
gold-camp. It was an interesting scene, but not beautiful. To Kells
it must have been so, but to Joan it was even more hideous than the
slash in the forest. Here and there, everywhere, were rude dugouts,
little huts of brush, an occasional tent, and an occasional log
cabin; and as she looked farther and farther these crude habitations
of miners magnified in number and in dimensions till the white and
black broken, mass of the town choked the narrow gulch.
"Wal, boss, what do you say to thet diggin's?" demanded Jesse Smith.
Kells drew a deep breath. "Old forty-niner, this beats all I ever
saw!"
"Shore I've seen Sacramento look like thet!" added Bate Wood.
Pearce and Cleve gazed with fixed eyes, and, however different their
emotions, they rivaled each other in attention.
"Jesse, what's the word?" queried Kells, with a sharp return to the
business of the matter.
"I've picked a site on the other side of camp. Best fer us," he
replied.
"Shall we keep to the road?"
"Certain-lee," he returned, with his grin.
Kells hesitated, and felt of his beard, probably conjecturing the
possibilities of recognition.
"Whiskers make another man of you. Reckon you needn't expect to be
known over here."
That decided Kells. He pulled his sombrero well down, shadowing his
face. Then he remembered Joan and made a slight significant gesture
at her mask.
"Kells, the people in this here camp wouldn't look at an army ridin'
through," responded Smith. "It's every man fer hisself. An' wimmen,
say! there's all kinds. I seen a dozen with veils, an' them's the
same as masks." Nevertheless, Kells had Joan remove the mask and
pull her sombrero down, and instructed her to ride in the midst of
the group. Then they trotted on, soon catching up with the jogging
pack-train.
What a strange ride that was for Joan! The slope resembled a
magnified ant-hill with a horde of frantic ants in action. As she
drew closer she saw these ants were men, digging for gold. Those
near at hand could be plainly seen--rough, ragged, bearded men and
smooth-faced boys. Farther on and up the slope, along the waterways
and ravines, were miners so close they seemed almost to interfere
with one another. The creek bottom was alive with busy, silent,
violent men, bending over the water, washing and shaking and
paddling, all desperately intent upon something. They had not time
to look up. They were ragged, unkempt, barearmed and bare-legged,
every last one of them with back bent. For a mile or more Kells's
party trotted through this part of the diggings, and everywhere, on
rocky bench and gravel bar and gray slope, were holes with men
picking and shoveling in them. Some were deep and some were shallow;
some long trenches and others mere pits. If all of these prospectors
were finding gold, then gold was everywhere. And presently Joan did
not need to have Kells tell her that all of these diggers were
finding dust. How silent they were--how tense! They were not
mechanical. It was a soul that drove them. Joan had seen many men
dig for gold, and find a little now and then, but she had never seen
men dig when they knew they were going to strike gold. That made the
strange difference.