The Claim Jumpers: A Romance | Page 8

feet,
which is as near as you can guess to fifteen hundred theoretical level
ones, your little blazed stake in a pile of stones is likely to be almost
anywhere within a liberal quarter of a mile. Then it is guess-work. If
the hill is pretty thickly staked out, the chase becomes exciting. In the
middle distance you see a post. You clamber eagerly to it, only to find
that it marks your neighbour's claim. You have lost your standpoint of a
moment ago, and must start afresh. In an hour's time you have
discovered every stake on the hill but the one you want. In two hours'
time you are staggering homeward a gibbering idiot. Then you are
brought back to profane sanity by falling at full length over the very
object of your search.
Bennington was treated to full measure of this experience. He found the
John Logan lode without much difficulty, and followed its length with
less, for the simple reason that its course lay over the round brow of a
hill bare of trees. He also discovered the "Northeast Corner of the
Crazy Horse Lode" plainly marked on the white surface of a pine stake
braced upright in a pile of rocks. Thence he confidently paced south,
and found nothing. Next trip he came across pencilled directions
concerning the "Miner's Dream Lode." The time after he ran against the
"Golden Ball" and the "Golden Chain Lodes." Bennington reflected; his
mind was becoming a little heated.
"It's because I went around those ledges and boulders," he said to
himself; "I got off the straight line. This time I'll take the straight line
and keep it."
So he addressed himself to the surmounting of obstructions. Work of
that sort is not easy. At one point he lost his hold on a broad, steep rock,
and slid ungracefully to the foot of it, his elbows digging frantically
into the moss, and his legs straddled apart. As he struck bottom, he
imagined he heard a most delicious little laugh. So real was the illusion
that he gripped two handfuls of moss and looked about sharply, but of

course saw nothing. The laugh was repeated.
He looked again, and so became aware of a Vision in pink, standing
just in front of a big pine above him on the hill and surveying him with
mischievous eyes.
Surprise froze him, his legs straddled, his hat on one side, his mouth
open. The Vision began to pick its way down the hill, eyeing him the
while.
That dancing scrutiny seemed to mesmerize him. He was enchanted to
perfect stillness, but he was graciously permitted to take in the
particulars of the girl's appearance. She was dainty. Every posture of
her slight figure was of an airy grace, as light and delicate as that of a
rose tendril swaying in the wind. Even when she tripped over a loose
rock, she caught her balance again with a pretty little uplift of the hand.
As she approached, slowly, and evidently not unwilling to allow her
charms full time in which to work, Bennington could see that her face
was delicately made; but as to the details he could not judge clearly
because of her mischievous eyes. They were large and wide and clear,
and of a most peculiar colour--a purple-violet, of the shade one
sometimes finds in flowers, but only in the flowers of a deep and shady
wood. In this wonderful colour--which seemed to borrow the richness
of its hue rather from its depth than from any pigment of its own, just
as beyond soundings the ocean changes from green to blue--an hundred
moods seem to rise slowly from within, to swim visible, even though
the mere expression of her face gave no sign of them. For instance, at
the present moment her features were composed to the utmost gravity.
Yet in her eyes bubbled gaiety and fun, as successive up-swellings of a
spring; or, rather, as the riffles of sunlight and wind, or the pictured
flight of birds across a pool whose surface alone is stirred.
Bennington realized suddenly, with overwhelming fervency, that he
preferred to slide in solitude.
The Vision in the starched pink gingham now poised above him like a
humming-bird over a flower. From behind her back she withdrew one
hand. In the hand was the missing claim stake.

"Is this what you are looking for?" she inquired demurely.
The mesmeric spell broke, and Bennington was permitted to babble
incoherencies.
She stamped her foot.
"Is this what you're looking for?" she persisted.
Bennington's chaos had not yet crystallized to relevancy.
"Wh-where did you get it?" he stammered again.
"IS THIS WHAT YOU'RE LOOKING FOR?" she demanded in very
large capitals.
The young man regained control of his faculties with an effort.
"Yes,