The “Boar’s Nest,” a gold mine … It had been exciting, at first. John had rented a horse at the livery stable and followed the directions written out for him by the poker-playing miner.
“It ain’t been worked for a while,” the man had warned. “It ain’t much … . There’s a tunnel in pretty good shape. About gold, I can’t say. I’ve never really worked it. You know minin’?”
“No.”
“Well, you can learn, I guess. All of us did, sometime. You need to go out and take a look, talk to somebody at an assay office. They’ll help you. They’ll weigh out your dust, too. You got that little bag of dust I was bettin’ with last night?”
“Yes … That’s from the mine?”
“No, not the Boar’s Nest. Another place. But there’s gold in them hills.”
John had taken most of the day to ride out to the mine. Even there, he had trouble finding it. There were bushes and shrubs, even a small tree growing in front of the tunnel opening. Not very impressive.
The day was late, and he made camp in order to get settled in before dark. He could explore later.
He began to investigate as soon as it was light enough. He had brought a coal-oil lantern, and now lit it to explore the mine tunnel.
John quickly realized that it, too, had been greatly exaggerated. It was low,
requiring a squatting position. For a man as tall as himself, it would probably be better to work on one’s knees or even sitting. Judging from the cobwebs, it appeared that no one had worked this claim for some time. There must be a reason, and he suspected that maybe he—not the miner—had been the victim in that last poker hand.
He scratched around enough to assure himself that he had little interest in mining. He had always had a fear of closed-in places, probably because of his early childhood in a Lakota lodge; warm in winter, cool in summer, but open and free to sky and prairie. This reinforced his feeling that there are things more important than gold.
The next thing, then, was to find a way to get rid of his liability. He spent the day cleaning up around the mine’s opening, brushing down cobwebs, and picking up debris from the tunnel’s floor. If he were to sell it, it must at least look workable.
Back in town, he went to the assay office, which appeared not to have been very busy for some time. He introduced himself, and asked whether there was much interest in buying and selling claims.
The man behind the counter looked him over curiously: a cowboy, not a miner.
“Not much,” he said cautiously. “Pickin’ up a little with the war effort. You lookin’ to buy a claim?”
“No,” said John. “I’m no miner, but … Well, I sort of bought one. I either need to learn to work it, or to sell it.”
“Where is it?”
“Up north, a half a day. It’s called the Boar’s Nest.”
From the look on the man’s face, John realized that he had guessed right. Apparently it had a reputation.
“The Boar’s Nest?”
“That’s what it says on the paper. You know of it?”
“Well, yes …”
There was a lopsided grin on the man’s face that told a bigger story.
“Maybe I should learn a little about mining,” John pondered. “Either that, or sell it, if I can.”
“Well, I ain’t in business to teach greenhorns to mine,” said the assayer. “But there were a couple of fellas askin’ about buyin’ a claim, a while ago. Are you workin’ the shaft?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, tell you what. Get you a gold pan over at the mercantile. They can tell you how to get started. When you get a little dust, bring it in. That’ll stir some interest in buyin’, maybe.”
As he left, John realized that he might well have the proverbial bear by the tail. How could he escape? The poorly concealed smirk on the face of the assayer as he turned away was the final insult.
At the store, he bought odds and ends of supplies that seemed appropriate for his purpose. He also asked about a cheap shotgun.
“There’s a few grouse up there,” he told the clerk. “Maybe I can get some fresh meat.”
The old single-shot had seen better days, but the clerk offered to throw in a loading tool for the brass shells.
“You can reload with your own powder and shot,” he explained. “Use a cloth wadding. Here, you’ll need a box of primer caps. See, you punch out the fired cap and push in the new one with this tool.”
John was quite aware of the process of reloading. He’d seen the old men do it many times. This was what he needed.
A gold pan, a short lesson in how to use it …
“You’ll see this black sand in the pan, the merchant told him. Now, that ain’t gold, but you’re gettin’ close. That’s when you keep tryin’. Now we got a stretch of purty good weather right now, but … Say, you got shelter if we get snow?”
John thought of the mine tunnel.
“Oh, yes. I’ll be fine.”
He actually did spend half a day panning. A few grains of black sand, one sparkling glitter that reflected sunlight for a moment … It could have been a fleck of gold dust, he always thought later, but it was gone the next instant, and he never found it again. Like a lot of things in life, he pondered morosely.
Well, time to return to his original plan. He fired a couple of shells from the old shotgun and got a grouse, which he broiled over his fire. While his supper cooked, he took out his reloading tools … . Punch out the old primers, replace with new caps, measure the black powder … A somewhat lighter load than recommended … Tightly packed wadding … Almost filling the shell.
With his wad cutter, he had punched several cardboard top-wads out of a lightweight box in which the clerk had packed some of his supplies. One of these on top of the rags …
Now he turned to the buckskin pouch of gold dust which had been part of his winnings at poker. Very carefully, he sifted fine dust into the nose of each brass shell casing. He was throwing money away, but he had to think of it as an investment … . A thin cardboard top wad, and a light crimp with the tool, to turn the shell’s rim over the wad.
His palms were sweating as he took the shotgun and his two high-priced shells to the very back of the tunnel and set the lantern on the floor. He selected a corner with a sort of crevice, and scratched around a bit with his short-handled miner’s pick to expose a fresh surface. Then, a few steps back …
He fired the first shell, and started forward to examine the results with the lantern. He was stopped by the dense white powder smoke that filled the tunnel. He’d have to wait.
The results were quite pleasing, he thought when he was able to reenter. A bright sprinkle of sparkling gold in a space of a handspan. He backed off another step or two before firing the second shell into the same general area. He rolled in his blankets that night with a solid feeling of satisfaction. Now he was ready to go back to the assay office.
“Is this the real stuff, or am I minin’ fool’s gold?”
John cautiously tossed a small corked bottle on the counter. Definitely not the pouch he’d obtained in the poker game. The pouch was well worn and greasy, and spoke of long use. That would suggest that he knew more than he was trying to imply. Besides, the stained old pouch held a lot more dust. He had no exact idea of its value, but here was an opportunity to learn. He knew exactly the measure of the gold dust in the bottle. He’d measured it in his gunpowder scoop. This would give him a close estimate of the total worth of his winnings. Then it remained only to rid himself of his useless mine.
The assayer lifted the bottle, glanced at the sparkling powder carelessly, and then took a more serious second look. He pulled the cork, carefully sifted a bit of the powder into a glazed ceramic tray, and poked around with a small glass rod.
“This come from that Boar’s Nest claim of yours?” he asked suspiciously.
“I’ve been workin’ it a little,” John said casually. And, of course, quite truthfully, without really answering the assay man’s question.
He waited while the man ran some tests, dropping fluids from an eyedropper on a few grains of dust, carefully weighing a sample on a delicate-looking scale in a glass case.
Finally the assayer straightened, poured the dust back into the bottle, and set it on the counter.
“That’s a good-quality lode,” he said, some doubt still in his voice. “Boar’s Nest, you say?”
“That’s what the papers call it,” said John.
“Hmm … You mentioned wantin’ to sell it?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure, now.”
“Well, I can understand that. But in case you’re interested, I know a fella or two … . Let me talk to ’em.”
Suddenly John realized that he had created a dangerous situation. If there were prospective buyers, they’d want to accompany him to the mine. Miles from town, he’d be alone and vulnerable.
But … The assay office had to be a reliable establishment. If the assayer
referred them, surely prospective buyers would be honest. He needed some sort of assurance.
“How do I know if these buyers are legitimate?”
“Ah, I see,” answered the assayer. “You’re careful. Miles from town, with strangers … Of course! Clever of you to see that. Well, look … Your protection is probably the deed. Where is it now?”
“It’s safe,” John said cautiously.
“Good. But before leaving town with strangers, I’d … Let’s see … You could leave it with the bank, or the sheriff, or leave it in our safe. We’re federally bonded, of course.”
Of course. John considered consulting someone else in a position of authority; but, being a stranger in town, could not know who might be reliable. The fewer people who knew about the transaction, the better. And it would lend to his own credibility.
“I’ll leave it here,” he concluded. “I’ll have to come back to transfer the deed if you send me a buyer.”
“That’s right. You want me to send this fella out?”
John’s suspicion rose again.
“When do you think you might—?” he started to ask.
“Oh! There he goes now,” interrupted the assayer. “Just a minute!”
He stepped to the door and called to a couple of men across the street. They crossed over and the introductions took place.
Then the assayer explained the situation. “ … so Mr. Buffalo, here, not being experienced in mining, was of the opinion that he might do best to sell.”
The two men nodded understandingly.
“You’ve checked his dust?” asked one. “Good enough for me. Of course, I’d want to see the vein. He drew a gold watch from a vest pocket. It’s late. How about we go out tomorrow?”
“Fine with me,” John agreed. “Shall we meet here?”
“Good! After breakfast, then?”
They shook hands all around, and John went to check into the hotel. He might as well be comfortable on what he hoped would be his last night in the area.