The Story of a Mine | Page 8

was worth a dollar, it was
worth a dollar because the material of which it was composed was
made from the stuff you have in that can,--quicksilver or mercury. It is
one of the most valuable of metals, especially in a gold-mining country.
My good fellow, if you know where to find enough of it, your fortune
is made."
Concho rose to his feet.
"Tell me, was the rock you built your furnace of red?"
"Si, Senor."
"And brown?"
"Si, Senor."
"And crumbled under the heat?"
"As to nothing."

"And did you see much of this red rock?"
"The mountain mother is in travail with it."
"Are you sure that your comrades have not taken possession of the
mountain mother?"
"As how?"
"By claiming its discovery under the mining laws, or by pre-emption?"
"They shall not."
"But how will you, single-handed, fight the four; for I doubt not your
scientific friend has a hand in it?"
"I will fight."
"Yes, my Concho, but suppose I take the fight off your hands. Now,
here's a proposition: I will get half a dozen Americanos to go in with
you. You will have to get money to work the mine,--you will need
funds. You shall share half with them. They will take the risk, raise the
money, and protect you."
"I see," said Concho, nodding his head and winking his eyes rapidly.
"Bueno!"
"I will return in ten minutes," said the Doctor, taking his hat.
He was as good as his word. In ten minutes he returned with six
original locaters, a board of directors, a president, secretary, and a deed
of incorporation of the 'Blue Mass Quicksilver Mining Co.' This latter
was a delicate compliment to the Doctor, who was popular. The
President added to these necessary articles a revolver.
"Take it," he said, handing over the weapon to Concho. "Take it; my
horse is outside; take that, ride like h--l and hang on to the claim until
we come!"

In another moment Concho was in the saddle. Then the mining director
lapsed into the physician.
"I hardly know," said Dr. Guild, doubtfully, "if in your present
condition you ought to travel. You have just taken a powerful
medicine," and the Doctor looked hypocritically concerned.
"Ah,--the devil!" laughed Concho, "what is the quicksilver that is IN to
that which is OUT? Hoopa, la Mula!" and, with a clatter of hoofs and
jingle of spurs, was presently lost in the darkness.
"You were none too soon, gentlemen," said the American Alcalde, as
he drew up before the Doctor's door. "Another company has just been
incorporated for the same location, I reckon."
"Who are they?"
"Three Mexicans,--Pedro, Manuel, and Miguel, headed by that d----d
cock-eyed Sydney Duck, Wiles."
"Are they here?"
"Manuel and Miguel, only. The others are over at Tres Pinos lally-
gaging Roscommon and trying to rope him in to pay off their whisky
bills at his grocery."
"If that's so we needn't start before sunrise, for they're sure to get
roaring drunk."
And this legitimate successor of the grave Mexican Alcaldes, having
thus delivered his impartial opinion, rode away.
Meanwhile, Concho the redoubtable, Concho the fortunate, spared
neither riata nor spur. The way was dark, the trail obscure and at times
even dangerous, and Concho, familiar as he was with these mountain
fastnesses, often regretted his sure-footed Francisquita. "Care not, O
Concho," he would say to himself, "'tis but a little while, only a little
while, and thou shalt have another Francisquita to bless thee. Eh,

skipjack, there was a fine music to thy dancing. A dollar for an
ounce,--'tis as good as silver, and merrier." Yet for all his good spirits
he kept a sharp lookout at certain bends of the mountain trail; not for
assassins or brigands, for Concho was physically courageous, but for
the Evil One, who, in various forms, was said to lurk in the Santa Cruz
Range, to the great discomfort of all true Catholics. He recalled the
incident of Ignacio, a muleteer of the Franciscan Friars, who, stopping
at the Angelus to repeat the Credo, saw Luzbel plainly in the likeness
of a monstrous grizzly bear, mocking him by sitting on his haunches
and lifting his paws, clasped together, as if in prayer. Nevertheless,
with one hand grasping his reins and his rosary, and the other clutching
his whisky flask and revolver, he fared on so rapidly that he reached the
summit as the earlier streaks of dawn were outlining the far-off Sierran
peaks. Tethering his horse on a strip of tableland, he descended
cautiously afoot until he reached the bench, the wall of red rock and the
crumbled and dismantled furnace. It was as he had left it that morning;
there was no trace of recent human visitation. Revolver in hand,
Concho examined every cave, gully, and