The Claim Jumpers

One day Old Mizzou brought him a blue-print map.

"This y'ar map," said he, spreading it out under his stubby fingers,

"shows the deestrict. I gets it of Fay, so you gains an idee of th' lay

of the land a whole lot. Them claims marked with a crost belongs to th'

Company. You kin take her and explore."

This struck Bennington as an excellent idea. He sat down at the table

and counted the crosses. There were fourteen of them. The different

lodes were laid off in mathematically exact rectangles, running in many

directions. A few joined one another, but most lay isolated. Their

relative positions were a trifle confusing at first, but, after a

little earnest study, Bennington thought he understood them. He could

start with the Holy Smoke, just outside the door. The John Logan lay

beyond, at an obtuse angle. Then a jump of a hundred yards or so to the

southwest would bring him to the Crazy Horse. This he resolved to

locate, for it was said to be on the same "lode" as a big strike some

one had recently made. He picked up his rifle and set out.

Now, a blue-print map maker has undoubtedly accurate ideas as to points

of the compass, and faultless proficiency in depicting bird's-eye

views, but he neglects entirely the putting in of various ups and down,

slants and windings of the country, which apparently twist the north

pole around to the east-south-east. You start due west on a bee line,

according to directions; after about ten feet you scramble over a

fallen tree, skirt a boulder, dip into a ravine, and climb a ledge.

Your starting point is out of sight behind you; your destination is,

Heaven knows where, in front. By the time you have walked six thousand

actual 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.