The Border Legion

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.