The Spirit of Sweetwater | Page 9

life to see you drink at that pool." His
directness and simplicity stimulated her like some mediæval elixir. He
made her forget her pain. They did not talk much until they were seated
on one of the benches near the fountain.
"Sit in the sun," he commanded. "Don't be afraid of the sun. You hear
people talk about the sun's rays breeding disease. The sun never does
that. It gives life. Beware of the shadow," he added, and she knew he
meant her mental indifference. They had a long talk on the bench. He
told her of his family, of himself.
"You see," he said, "father had only a small business, though he
managed to educate me, and, later, my brother. But when he died it had
less value, for I couldn't hold the trade he had and times were harder. I
kept brother at college during his last two years, and when he came out
I gave the business to him and got out. He was about to marry, and the
business wouldn't support us both. I was always inclined to adventure
anyway. Gold Creek was in everybody's mouth, so I came here.
"Oh, that was a wonderful time; the walk across the mountains was like
a story to me. I liked the newness of everything in the camp. It was
glorious to hear the hammers ringing, and see the new pine buildings
going up--and the tent and shanties. It was rough here then, but I had
little to do with that. I staked out my claim and went to digging. I knew
very little about mining, but they were striking it all around me, and so
I kept on. Besides"--here he looked at her in a curiously shy way--"I've
always had a superstition that just when things were worst with me they
were soonest to turn to the best, so I dug away. My tunnel went into the
hill on a slight upraise, and I could do the work alone. You see I had so
little money I didn't want to waste a cent.

"But it all went at last for powder and the sharpening of picks, and for
assaying--till one morning in August I found myself without money
and without food."
He paused there, and his face grew dark with remembered despair, and
she shuddered.
"It must be terrible to be without food and money."
"No one knows what it means till he experiences it. I worked all day
without food. It seemed as if I must strike it then. Besides, I took a sort
of morbid pleasure in abusing myself--as if I were to blame. I had been
living on canned beans, and flapjacks, and coffee without milk or sugar,
and I was weak and sick--but it all had to end. About four o'clock I
dropped my pick and staggered out to the light. It was impossible to do
anything more."
There were tears in her eyes now, for his voice unconsciously took on
the anguish of that despair.
"I sat there looking out toward the mountains and down on the camp.
The blasts were booming from all hills--the men were going home with
their dinner-pails flashing red in the setting sun's light. It was terrible to
think of them going home to supper. It seemed impossible that I should
be sitting there starving, and the grass so green, the sunset so beautiful.
I can see it all now as it looked then, the old Sangre de Christo range! It
was like a wall of glistening marble that night.
"Well, I sat there till my hunger gnawed me into action. Then I
staggered down the trail. I saw how foolish I had been to go on day
after day hoping, hoping until the last cent was gone. I hadn't money
enough to pay the extra postage on a letter which was at the office. The
clerk gave me the letter and paid the shortage himself. The letter was
from my sister, telling me how peaceful and plentiful life was at home,
and it made me crazy. She asked me how many nuggets I had found.
You can judge how that hurt me. I reeled down the street, for I must eat
or die, I knew that."

"Oh, how horrible!" the girl said softly.
"There was one eating-house at which I always took my supper. It was
kept by an Irish woman, a big, hearty woman whose husband was a
prospector--or had been. 'Biddy Kelly's' was famous for its 'home
cooking.' I went by the door twice, for I couldn't bring myself to go in
and ask for a meal. You don't know how hard that is--it's very queer, if
a man has money he can ask for credit or a meal, but if he is broke he'll
starve